


Byzantium

by TreacleTeacups



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Cinderella Elements, Dark Ages, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Magic, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairytale-esque simplification of dark themes, Female Harry Potter, Kingdoms, Most of this fic is T-M Rated, Nymphs - Freeform, Polyamory - if you squint?, Soul Bond, basically a bodice ripper, because why the hell not, black magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 54,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23963170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacleTeacups/pseuds/TreacleTeacups
Summary: “Very well,” Harry replied primly, “Thank you so much for kidnapping me, accusing me of being fae, bruising my ribs, and the long and miserable ride home in an autumn sunset whilst wet. You’re a fucking charmer, feel free to drop by the next time you decide to terrorise our native creatures.”The knight seemed hardly offended, which annoyed Harry to no ends, and he instead replied with, “You never told me your name, little peasant girl.”“Names have power in the outer lands,” Harry responded sharply. “And I have no interest in learning yours. Names require exchange.”In which there are unholy knights, demon armies, nymphs, and a curse to rule the kingdom
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 257
Kudos: 2060
Collections: A Labyrinth of Fics, All-time Harry Potter Favourites, Autonomous Horcruxes, Fav Recs, Favorite, Highlandspringo's Tomarry Shelf, IYRTIGREAT, Storycatchers' pile of magical stories from the world of Harry Potter, i have seen your heart and it is mine





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Harry lifted her head slowly, listening to sounds of birds cawing. It was unusually cold, making her toes stiff and painful from where they poked out of her thin blanket.

It was just before sunrise, her small storage room lighting up with dim blue light. Harry shuddered, pulling her toes into the blanket and she sighed. Her adoptive family wouldn’t be rising for a few hours yet, but there would be trouble if the house wasn’t warmed by the time they got up. Harry had a full day; tending to the animals, fetching water, chopping firewood, gathering in the forest – and that did not yet include cooking the day’s meals, which would take up a good portion of her time. Her family was not a particularly wealthy one, but it ate like kings. It kept Harry busy trying to feed them most of the day.

Pulling her blanket over her head, Harry sighed, trying to summon the energy to get herself out of bed. With an audible groan, she pushed herself up and swung her feet over the side of her cot, hissing when her feet hit the cold stone floor. It was freezing, her breath misting out of her mouth like dragon smoke.

Harry made quick work of getting ready for the day, pulling off her thin night gown and tugging on a heavy woolen jumper over a thin camisole, pulling boys’ pants up her scrawny legs. She struggled with tugging on her worn pair of boots over dirty socks. She would need to do laundry, if the nearly empty pile of clean nickers and socks were anything to go by.

Harry moaned, pushing herself up to her feet. Shaking her hands to increase circulation and stretching after her rough night on the cot, she applied herself immediately to her morning, not letting herself think beyond the next task.

* * *

As predicted, the Dursleys were completely miserable from the moment they rose from bed, despite the chores being done in record time and a pleasantly warm house ready to greet them.

Harry made her way out of the house as quickly as possible. Her Aunt Petunia had always been the miserable sort, but she had become especially vicious since Harry tumbled into her teens. Harry knows she’s hardly pretty; she is freckled from long hours outdoors, scrawnier than any of the girls her age, and she’s not yet hit the womanhood stage her peers had – or, if she had, it was hardly noticeable. Either way, Harry’s heard rumours out in town that Petunia is considering selling Harry off to the highest bidder, be it as a bride or slave, if only to be able to be rid of her.

Harry might be fifteen but she has never even so much as given a second thought to marriage or moving homes and whilst the Dursleys are about as nice as a bucking donkey with a toothache, Harry would rather live with the devil she knows. Petunia doesn’t hurt Harry, at least not physically. Harry can outrun Dudley on a moment’s notice, can duck faster than Vernon can swing. Besides, Vernon is gone half the year selling farm equipment for the landowners of their estate, as good serfs do, and Dudley is so often out of the house chasing uninterested skirt that Harry practically has the run of house to herself, if she can avoid Aunt Petunia long enough. She even knows how to persuade her aunt into letting her go on long walks for half a day, if she finishes her chores quickly and competently enough.

Today happens to be one of the rare days that Aunt Petunia took one look at Harry and scoffed, shooing her out of the house in response to an unspoken request to go on a walk. It was nearing midday and Harry hadn’t had a chance to bath in nearly a week; she was smelling particularly ripe. Between tending the animals and single-handedly running the estate, Harry was covered in more ash and dirt (and other things that she would rather not think about) than was considered decent for her gender.

It took nearly an hour to reach the bathing pools, but it was well worth the walk. Sometimes Harry could get away with borrowing a horse, which reduced the travel time to barely twenty minutes, but Vernon was going to town today and was using the old mare. Today it was rather cold, but a brisk pace kept her warm and the exercise allowed Harry to think.

Harry finally reached the edge of the rock pools in a dense forest, a cheerful waterfall filling the pool and thermals beneath warming the water to a pleasant temperature. The area was famous for its divine swimming, but this particular swimming hole was solely Harry’s. It hadn’t been visited in all the time Harry has been coming here and she suspects, from the various rotting wooden signs leading to the rockpools, that this was property of the King. Not that everything wasn’t – there wasn’t a farm as far as she could ride the horse for months that didn’t belong to the King. But she supposed that some things were more off-limits than others. Not that Harry knew definitively; her family hadn’t allowed her the opportunity to learn to read. Harry could get by at the shops by recognizing the symbols for simple things, like bakers or butchers or whatnot, but less rare symbols left her confused.

It was something of a sore spot and Harry decided she wouldn’t dwell on it, turning her mind to pleasanter things. She immediately stripped and opened her satchel, pulling out a threadbare but clean cotton towel and a bar of soap. The soap had been gifted to her by the arborist’s son, a shy, pleasant boy who had grown into his looks over the past years. Harry had taken the gift rather happily, as it was a soft goats’ milk soap bar, scented with a strong perfume she hadn’t smelt before – Neville said it was called jasmine, a rare flower imported from Asia.

Harry immediately set to washing her clothes she wore to the baths. There were thermal vents around that would dry her clothing in mere hours despite the cold weather, if she dared to stay long enough to let them dry thoroughly. After scrubbing, rinsing out and hanging up her clothes, Harry settled into the bath and sighed pleasantly. She rubbed the jasmine soap into her skin to soak through the dirt and pressed soap into her hair, rinsing gently. Once she was scrubbed pink, top to bottom, she laid back against a warm stone to soak. This was her favourite time, when she was away from the Dursleys and could treat herself nicely to the jasmine soap and pretend that she was a water nymph, on no one’s beck and call.

Harry had seen a few nymphs in her time, though only at a distance and with careful trepidation. Nymphs were highly fickle; they could gift you a lock of hair, and then decide to drown you for the punishment of either taking it or refusing the gift – or both. As such, Harry kept a wide berth and often bathed in colder waters if she heard melodic singing through the woods on her way to her private pool.

Harry had been approached by a nymph only once in the baths, when her eyes were closed and she dozed in the warm waters. The nymph was gone by the time Harry woke, but it had left a stunning Nymph Crown, a heady bouquet shaped into a crown with a long sewn-in veil, woven of fine worm silk. It was the nicest thing Harry had ever received and she had immediately hidden it in a hollow tree by the pools; if Petunia had found it, she would have kept it for herself or burnt it, just to spite Harry. Harry sometimes wore it in the baths, the silk and flowers never dying nor damaged by the warm water. Magical gifts were to be treasured and if Harry decided to sell it, she would raise a fair sum. But she couldn’t bear to gift away the headdress, the lovely thing special to her in a way nothing else was.

Harry opened her eyes drowsily, realising that each time she had worn it in the baths that she had not been bothered. Perhaps it made her look like a nymph and frightened off any potential visitors or other nymphs, or perhaps it was simply just a nice headdress and held no powers other than preserving charms. Either way, one did not spurn the gifts of the fae, even if accepting them held equal danger. Reaching out of the bath, Harry rolled a large stone away from a tree, revealing the headdress. She carefully pulled it out, inspecting for any bugs or tears and, once satisfied, carefully lifted it onto her hair, rearranging the long silk veil over her shoulders and into the warm water. Harry smiled to herself as she laid back, feeling a bit foolish by her indulgence but allowing herself the treat.

Harry was roused from her dozing state by the sound of crashing in the distance. Harry sat up quickly, eyes wide as she recognized the sound of horse hooves. It was incredibly rare to ride a horse through this forest, especially at the speed Harry could hear. It was a dense, treacherous forest and required not only extensive riding skill, but a warhorse of great skill to be able to leap over the logs, knolls, and dodge trees.

Harry scrambled out of the pool as the crashing sound neared, stumbling over to her clothes and she pulled her on nearly-dried knickers and camisole. The long veil of her headdress got in the way, making her fumble around it to pull on the thin, white fabrics. For some reason, she was so flustered by the confusion that she simply forgot to take it off, struggling around the useless thing in her frenzied panic. Just as she reached for her trousers, Harry heard the crashing break through the thick copse of trees at the far end of the pools, barely a hundred metres away.

Freezing her movements, Harry’s heart jittered to a standstill, dropping into her stomach as she realised with horror that there was someone _looking at her_. Slowly turning around with her trousers gripped in her white-knuckled grip, body thankfully covered by the long nymph veil down to her knees, Harry felt every instinct in her petrify at the sight.

Across her sanctuary was a massive pitch-black war steed, decorated with the kind of lavish silver plating she’d heard the blacksmiths moan over (banding, the blacksmiths said) and elaborate, heavy leather straps. But that wasn’t what caught Harry’s attentions. It was the knight in full black armour sitting atop the steed, a knight wearing runed, obsidian-coloured protective alloy that signified his importance, his need to wear full battle gear. The sharp, eerie helm covering his head protruded with wickedly sharp black spikes, the intricate metal guarding his mouth warped and distorted. It was a horrifying visage, a nod to the kingdom’s state creature – the Dementor.

 _Death Eater_ , Harry’s mind whispered.

Death Eaters were the King’s knights. They were not just the King’s knights, though. They were his attackers, his personal sword, the men that lead armies into battle with gleeful bloodthirst. Rumours were that half of them had made deals with devils, elongating their lives and protecting them from ill-willed magic. They had led the charge that saw the six kingdoms surrounding their own fall to Voldemort’s feet. They were highly trained, highly lethal, and highly prejudiced; they had been rumoured to kill peasants on sight, if only for the crime of being in their presence.

The horse, impatient by the momentary stillness, whinnied loudly and stomped a massive black hoof. On a normal horse, that stomp would have lost a shoe – on a war horse, it merely trembled the ground beneath.

Like a spell broken, Harry turned tail and bolted, leaping through the thickest part of the forest in an effort to lose the knight. Her heart pounded like a frightened rabbit’s, her mind screaming _run run run_ as she heard the knight take chase, a predator chasing frightened prey, the sound of a horse crashing through the rocky pools pushing her on. Though the knight was on a horse and had significant power over her, Harry knew these forests like the back of her hand and being on foot was an advantage, compared to being on a horse. She also knew that if she managed to get a good eight hundred metres away, she would reach a cliff face with an ancient, tiny crumbling stone path leading down one side of it, an old monk trail; the knight would need to chase on foot, and she doubted he would with all that heavy metal armour weighing down his frame.

Racing through a hedge and tripping as the damned veil caught on some branches ( _why on earth haven’t I taken this off yet_ , Harry despaired), Harry scrambled to her feet and continued, ignoring the feeling of blood running in small rivulets down her hands. Harry barely paid attention to the sharp stinging of her lungs, the bruises on her knees, the loud rush of blood pounding through her ears, the tears that sprung to the corner of her eyes on her fall. All she knew was that she was moments away from reaching the cliff edge stairwell and she would _survive_.

Without a moment’s warning, Harry cried out as an armour-coated forearm slammed around her waist, winding her harshly as the knight hung off the side of his steed and whipped her off her feet, yanking her up to his tall horse like a ragdoll. He had appeared out of nowhere, jerking Harry up onto his steed without a second to gain her bearings. Harry struggled to breathe as she was tossed over the horse roughly in front of the knight, the saddle’s horn digging harshly into her bruised ribs and making her both cry out in pain and gasp for air.

Choking, Harry clung onto the black steed’s mane so she wouldn’t fall off, the knight’s chainmail glove gripping the back of her veil and camisole.

Harry was torn between being absolutely _furious_ and completely mortified; she was wearing basically nothing under the veil, like an imbecile, and she was going to be brutally murdered by a Death Eater in the middle of a forest while wearing a Nymph Crown. This was as embarrassing a death as it could get. As the seconds wore on and Harry blinked tears of pain out of her eyes, she began to become enraged.

“Who the actual fuck do you think you are?” Harry squawked, moaning as the saddle jostled when the horse leapt over a large log and dug further into her lungs.

The knight looked down at her in what Harry could only imagine was surprise and yanked harshly on the steed’s reins. Harry felt the horse slam its feet down in response to the knight’s command and moaned as her most-likely fractured ribs protested the movement.

“You are speaking,” the Knight said, his voice deep, distinguished, and oddly metallic from behind the pointed guard of his helm.

“Yes, that’s what kidnapped people tend to do,” Harry snapped furiously. She was so horrified by the entire situation; she was soaked, barely dressed, and was most likely going to be murdered in the next five minutes. She figured she didn’t have much to lose.

“Nymphs cannot speak,” the Knight replied blankly.

“Yes, well, if we are just going to be stating stupid facts, then I guess it’s my turn. Death Eaters have no fucking manners and you lot should be locked up between wars to protect the general public from your murderous assery,” Harry bit back, faintly aware that she should probably be appalled by her words but the fury igniting in her chest overrode any self-preservation.

A large, chainmail-covered hand wound into Harry’s hair and yanked her head up so that she was looking at the knight’s helmet, crying out as her hair was pulled harshly.

“You are a single woman by herself swimming in nymph infested waters, wearing a traditional nymph veil, and you are calling me an ass?” The knight replied sharply. “What did you expect people to think, that you were a human playing pretend at being a nymph? How is that much better?”

Harry gaped at the knight’s rude reply. “Nymph infested waters? Are you serious? I’ve seen maybe five, six at most, since I started coming here,” she replied, realising distantly that she was actually arguing semantics with a _Death Eater_ but the adrenaline pushed her on, making her argumentative.

“The signs? Everywhere? Saying that this is nymph infested water?” The knight prompted, incredulous. “And that seeing up to six nymphs is usually a sign to stay away? How haven’t you been drowned yet?”

Harry blushed, realising that the signs she couldn’t read were warnings about _nymphs_ , not king’s waters. Oh, well. Feeling defensive and unwilling to admit she was illiterate to a highly specialised military assassin (who was currently gripping her hair and arching her neck up to look at him), Harry decided to not reply to his questions and instead continue down her spiral of combatant anger. “It’s awful to think that you may be kidnapping an innocent woman, but it’s even worse if you thought you were kidnapping a nymph. The fae don’t take kindly to assaults on their kind and the nymph would probably die if pulled out of the forest.”

“Are you actually defending _nymphs_?” The knight shot back, sounding more and more harassed. “The evil fae creatures that drowns men, women, and children alike for their own entertainment?”

“Like your fucking hands are clean of blood,” Harry shot back.

The knight shifted quickly then, dismounting his horse in the blink of an eye and dragging Harry down with him. Harry squawked as she was manhandled, set onto her numb feet and crowding her against the impossibly large warhorse as he harshly yanked the crowned flower veil off Harry’s head.

Blushing, Harry stared down at her feet as the crown veil was tossed aside and she was exposed, barely clothed and seconds away from being speared by the knight’s sword (and hopefully that was _not_ a euphemism).

A chainmail gloved finger slipped under Harry’s chin and she closed her eyes as her face was lifted skyward, for the knight’s inspection. It had been easier to be brave under the veil, when the adrenaline rushed through her veins and her temper won over. Instead of in this awkward silence as the knight inspected her face to make sure that she was, indeed, a human and not a cursed nymph capable of spoken word.

Slowly, with nerves steeled, Harry opened her eyes and stared past her eyelashes at the frightening visage of the Death Eater’s metal mask. The mask seemed familiar, reminding her of a time that she couldn’t recall – back when she was very young, and her village was ransacked by Death Eaters as her old country’s kingdom fell to Voldemort. Shuddering at the thought, and the cold that she had been too wound up to feel, Harry narrowed her eyes at her captor and jutted her jaw out, daring him to attack her.

“You are a very strange little girl,” the Knight said, tone carefully blank. “And you are _very_ bare.”

Harry quickly crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to look down and feel horrified. “Well, I have you to thank for that last one,” Harry bit out, jaw flexing as she realised she was very, very cold. “And the first part is hardly your concern.”

“Don’t you know who I am?” The knight shot back, head tilting as he examined her. Harry wished she could see through the metal slits in his mask, wondering how it showed only a dark, fathomless darkness where his eyes should be.

“A Death Eater, yes, I understand how this works. You let me go or you kill me, whichever strikes your fancy, either way it needs to happen quickly,” Harry stammered out, feeling her extremities beginning to go numb from the cold. “I’m fairly sure my lips are blue.”

“ _A_ Death Eater,” the knight repeated, clipped tones incredulous, as if his honour were insulted.

“Oh, for the gods’ sake,” Harry snapped irritably. “I don’t know your fucking names, I’m sure there’s swaths of damsels in distress out there who would be able to recognise you by your fucking horse alone, but right now I don’t _care_ , make your choice, knight. Murder the peasant or not?”

“The border lands really do not care about our kingdom, do they?” The knight replied instead of rising to the bait, tone haughty and judgemental.

Harry felt herself grow confused at his words, almost as if she had missed a step. “The border lands did not want to be part of the kingdom and that hasn’t changed in the ten years since you conquered,” Harry answered, perhaps a little too bluntly for her own good, wondering if anyone had ever spoken to this asshole knight this way before. The sun was lowering in the sky and the temperature was dropping rapidly; soon the forest would begin to crystallise with frost. “We _are_ part of the kingdom, I’m not delusional, but only because we were rubbish at fighting back. But just because you own us doesn’t mean we have to love you. You lot are kind of massive dicks.”

“The mouth on you,” the Knight snapped, the hand still under her chin pressing harder against her flesh, a metal thumb coming up to press against her cold lips. “You are trembling,” the knight stated dully. The large war steed behind her, largely forgotten at this point, whinnied and made Harry jump.

“It’s really, really cold, and I’m wearing less clothes than a whore,” Harry replied in annoyance, trying to wilfully ignore the death machine behind her and the obsidian knight with the pointy swords in front of her. “I think at this point I may just have to amputate my toes; I don’t think they’re salvageable.”

“What is your name?” The knight questioned instead of addressing Harry’s concerns, making her more annoyed.

“If I tell you, will you make a decision?” Harry shot back.

“To kill you or let you wander back to whatever shit hole farm you escaped from?” The knight answered just as quickly.

Harry gaped, affronted. “First off, it’s a fucking lovely farm, thank you very much. And secondly – ” Harry gasped as the knight grabbed her and spun her around, thoughts racing a mile a second as she realised he was _gripping her sides, oh fuck, and_

Promptly lifted her up like she weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes and threw her back up onto his horse’s saddle. Gasping for breath as her ribs were jostled once more, Harry scrambled to sit up in the seat and barely positioned herself as the knight hoisted himself up behind her. Trembling from the cold and the chilly metal pressing into her back, Harry gripped the black horn of the saddle, refusing to look behind her. Black metal arms reached around her and gripped the stallion’s reins, the horse shifting as it prepared to move on command.

“What now?” Harry asked in despair.

“I’ll take you back to your _fucking lovely farm_ ,” the knight mocked, voice somehow cultured even through the swear, “And get on with my mission. Which way?”

“Mission? Was it your _mission_ to steal a nymph?” Harry asked, appalled, craning her neck to look behind her at the terrifying vision of black.

The knight glanced down at her, the spikes on his helmet gleaming sharply in the dimming light, and enunciated slowly as if she were a small, stupid child, “ _Which. Way?”_

“That way,” Harry huffed, turning back around to face ahead and pointing east. She decided on settling uncomfortably into the leather saddle with as much dignity she could muster. “No need to be so rude about it.”

The knight took off in the direction advised and Harry spared a moment to glance back at her now ruined nymph headdress, a spike of sadness filling her as it was abandoned on the forest floor.

“You should not accept gifts from the fae,” the knight informed her blankly, somehow sounding unaffected even as the horse leapt over large logs and Harry held on for dear life.

“The fae aren’t so bad,” Harry replied when she trusted her voice to not shake.

“You clearly haven’t met the fae,” the knight retorted rudely.

“I actually have, thank you,” Harry snarked, gripping the saddle horn tightly between numb fingers, “And they’re a fair fucking bit nicer than you.”

“You’ve met the fae?” The knight asked sharply.

Harry nearly cursed herself aloud. It was considered dangerous to meet the fae; even a chance encounter could stain a person’s reputation. It was worse than running into a priest or priestess – or, gods forbid, an oracle. Those encounters tended to change a person.

“Not when I was awake,” Harry replied shortly. “I was gifted the veil without punishment.”

“Then you are lucky,” the knight growled.

Clearly, this knight had issues with magical creatures. It wasn’t surprising of a member of the kingdom’s guard; Voldemort’s original lands were fraught with dark creatures and the border lands they eventually conquered were as well. The conquered creatures, unlike the beats in their own country, had not taken kindly to having their allies torn down and had replied with viciousness.

“Yes,” Harry answered, unwilling to speak further on the topic. She actually thought the fae were pretty decent, if left to their own devices, and so far had been a fright more friendly to her than most humans, but she would not be currying any favours by admitting to such a thought.

Eventually, the knight turned onto the small road home at Harry’s quiet gestures and galloped at an even faster, rougher speed.

It was a long, miserable ride home, the sun setting despite the young hour. It was going to be winter very soon and Harry had a lot of work to attend to, work she hardly felt like doing with all the events of the afternoon. Harry was exhausted, cold, and now just realising how her family would react to a _Death Eater_ dropping off their houseslave in only her knickers.

“You’re going to have to give me something to wear,” Harry informed the knight as the turned up the tree-lined path to her family’s estate.

“What makes you think I’d give you anything? I’ve been more than accommodating,” the knight retorted coldly.

“I’d hardly call kidnapping ‘accommodating’,” Harry muttered to herself. Louder, over the roar of the horse’s gallop, she replied, “So that my family doesn’t think my honour has been ruined by a member of the king’s guard and drop me off at the nearest whorehouse come morning.”

Despite the metal armour digging into her back, Harry could somehow feel the knight stiffen. “Your family would not sell a daughter to a whorehouse, no matter the condition she’s returned. The border lands prefer daughters to sons, unlike the inner kingdom.”

“Don’t presume to know our customs,” Harry snapped, hardly about to admit she was a slave to a knight who already thought her a basic peasant, “The only time I see any of your countrymen out here, it’s to tell us to make more food for the capital and tell us what we’re doing wrong. You don’t know anything about us.”

The knight did not respond to Harry, but she doubted it was from lack of opinion. Everything about this knight screamed highly educated, proud, and self-assured. It almost worried her when he didn’t reply, as she wasn’t sure if she had said something she shouldn’t have.

“That’s not to say that we need more of your men,” Harry added quickly. “We hardly need more oversight.” She could hear the knight huff behind her, the metal of his suit digging into her back.

Just then, the horse galloped around an expanse of trees and into sight of the homestead. Harry had never been embarrassed of her family’s home before; it was clean, comfortable, and the thatched roof didn’t leak in the winter. Harry tended the ivy growing up the sides of the house, the leaves red, yellow, and brown from the late autumn season glowing like fire, and she carefully maintained the window trimmings. There was no need or reason to be ashamed; she actually kept it quite nice.

But seeing it from the knight’s perspective – it was different. From her perched position on the edge of the horse’s saddle, she could see the war horse’s decorative barding, strong alloy metal plates covered with a fine patina of silver and covered in intricately carved runes to ward off dark creatures. The plating alone was worth more than her own household made in a lifetime. It was disquieting for Harry to realise the knight saw her home and must think, ‘ _I knew it was a shit hole_.’

As the horse lurched to a stop, Harry was relieved to see none of the candles had been lit in the home and the carriage was gone; her family must still be out in the town gathering supplies before heading home. The knight dismounted with ease and Harry warily looked down, the height of the horse making her cautious of hurting herself whilst getting off. This horse easily had a good five, six hands on her mare.

If she could see his eyes, Harry would guess the knight was rolling them, as he made an annoyed noise and reached up. Harry wasn’t fast enough to avoid his strong grip and she was yanked off the tall steed, clinging to his sharp metal suit.

“Seems a little impractical to be wearing a full war ensemble all the time,” Harry muttered, rubbing her hands together and shuffling her feet to try and get feeling back into them, stepping away from the knight once her feet had enough circulation to allow the movement.

“I don’t,” the knight replied. “Only when hunting dark creatures.”

“Or under-dressed, unarmed farm hands?” Harry prompted, looking up at the tall knight with a pointedly raised eyebrow.

“As I said, dark creatures,” the knight replied. Harry rolled her eyes and turned towards the house, but was stopped by the knight saying, “Wait.”

Harry flinched as the knight unexpectedly reached toward her shoulder, jaw moving away from the hand passing by her face. The knight didn’t acknowledge the flinch, instead reaching into the war horse’s saddle bag and pulling out an unseen item. Harry kept her eyes trained on the knight’s blank metal helmet. He pulled the item over her shoulder and Harry’s eyes widened in surprise as a large, impossibly soft fur coat poured like satin into her hands.

“What is – ” Harry started to ask, before being cut off.

“So that you aren’t whored out come morning,” the knight stated dryly, as if amused by the thought. “Keep it, I toss them out after each trip anyway.”

“You _toss these out_?” Harry asked, aghast, as she pulled the large fur coat over her shoulders and sighed in bliss as the warmth enclosed around her slight frame, eyes closing happily. “You really are a rich, soddy wanker.”

A sound of shifting metal drew Harry’s attentions and she peered through her eyelashes, inhaling sharply as the knight took off his helmet. Underneath was quite possibly the most attractive person that Harry had ever seen in her entire life. Pale skin that was weathered a little from riding, a tousle of thick black hair, aristocratic nose and high cheekbones, a rough five o’clock shadow outlining a strong jaw – and grey eyes that flashed red in the dying light of the sun. Harry blinked up at the knight in surprise, realising that she had expected a scarred, miserable old bastard behind that mask, not a young man appearing to be in his early to mid-twenties. He was hardly older than a boy.

“What are you – ” Harry began, tone blistering and defensive, before being cut off once again by –

Soft, chapped lips pressed against Harry’s own in a surprisingly soft, innocent kiss and she stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide as she took in the sight of a fucking _Death Eater_ pressing his stupidly attractive face to hers. She blushed, realising she hadn’t cleaned her teeth that day, though she was usually very good about chewing mint leaves and brushing her teeth with a special small brush, and of course the day she forgets –

Before Harry’s mental tirade could take over, the knight back away, eyes glittering in the violent glow of the sunset.

“Why would you do that?” Harry blurted as soon as he pulled back.

“It is a tradition to give the damsel in distress a parting kiss,” the Knight replied, shrugging. “Though that rather felt like the innocent kiss one gives a small child before they’re sent to bed. How old are you anyway?”

Harry flushed, annoyed. That was her first kiss and of course it had to be done by an extremely rude man who basically called the kiss a sexless, innocent peck that he felt he ought to do out of some bizarre obligatory Knight tradition.

“You are such a twat,” Harry muttered, burying her face in the deep collar of the fur coat.

“Does that count as your honour being ruined?” The stupidly attractive knight pressed impishly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward in an insufferably smug smirk as he saw Harry blush.

“Sure, if you were a younger brother saying goodbye to me as I departed for a life at a covenant,” Harry replied, pursing her lips in a very Petunia-like manner. “I’d hardly call you a womaniser.” Harry is not sure why she is baiting him, but something about him seems so fucking _smug_ that she can’t help herself.

The knight merely smirked in response, shrugging in a way that looked too uncomfortable in his black armour to warrant the attempt. “I do try,” he answered, his demeanour so charming Harry’s brain struggled to catch up with what they were even talking about. “Besides, it seemed like a kiss from a knight would be the most exciting thing your little peasant life could ever achieve so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to gift you with a parting goodbye.”

Stung, Harry narrowed her eyes at him, stepping back until she nearly pressed against the war horse. “Very well,” Harry replied primly, “Thank you so much for kidnapping me, accusing me of being fae, bruising my ribs, and the long and miserable ride home in an autumn sunset whilst wet. You’re a fucking charmer, feel free to drop by the next time you decide to terrorise our native creatures.”

The knight seemed hardly offended, which annoyed Harry to no ends, and he instead replied with, “You never told me your name, little peasant girl.”

“Names have power in the outer lands,” Harry responded sharply. “And I have no interest in learning yours. Names require exchange.”

“You won’t exchange a name for a kiss? That’s hardly fair for a fae,” the Knight answered half-teasingly, though his eyes narrowed at the mention of her land’s lore. The inner kingdom did not much appreciate the legends of the outer lands.

“Fine, for a kiss,” Harry snapped, feeling oddly caught out, “Harry.”

“That’s a boy’s name,” the Knight replied judgementally.

“I am a boy,” Harry shot back, a blatant lie spoken only to be insolent.

“I could believe it,” the Knight answered too quickly for Harry’s tastes, making her blush as he eyed her.

“Bite me,” Harry snarled, pulling the fur coat tighter around her scrawny body.

The knight only laughed instead, a quiet huff of sardonic amusement, as if the mere thought of her insult were so preposterous it immediately invoked amusement. Harry bristled; the asshole should be so lucky to even scale on her list of people she would willingly touch.

“Well, have a good evening, black knight,” Harry said, refusing to show her offence. She curtsied, a little wobbly (which annoyingly ruined the effect), and turned around. “Please don’t stab me in the back as I’m walking away,” she asked dryly, stepping firmly toward the house. “And if you feel the impulse, just remember that the fae like me and killing me would only make your mission harder.”

The warning was in partial jest, but she hoped the knight was superstitious enough to feel nervous by her semi-threat.

A loud clattering noise made Harry jump and she whipped around just in time to see the knight mount his horse and take off down the dirt path. Watching him gallop away, eerie death helmet pulled on before he could turn down the little bend down the path, Harry wondered to herself how the actual hell she had managed to meet a Death Eater and live.

Brushing off her thoughts and pulling the fur coat in close, Harry turned back to her family’s house and went inside, putting her mind to more important things, like actually getting properly dressed and finishing her chores. Somehow, though, her mind kept wandering back to black knight and his demon steed, wondering why he had spared her.

* * *

Harry woke in the morning with a particularly vicious headache, surrounded by the plush fur coat that she had buried into in the coldest hour of the night. Moaning, she sat up and touched her forehead – and jolted in surprise as she realised her forehead was bleeding. It was hardly sunrise yet, the dim blue wash of the morning barely lighting her storage cupboard-cum-room, and she blinked in horror. Harry scrambled out of bed, too worried to feel the bitter chill of the stone against her toes, and scampered to kitchen. Pulling out a metal bowl, Harry raised the dish to the nearest window and inspected her warped reflection.

In the odd curved angle of the bowl, Harry pushed aside her messy fringe and inspected the old lightening scar on her forehead. It had nearly faded to obscurity over the years, covered with her thick hair and a thin layer of dust from the farm. The knight probably hadn’t even noticed it the night before, for it was so hidden on a daily basis from pressing her own hair down. However, it was clear as day now – swollen, red and bleeding, it pulsed with her heartbeat and made her skin crawl uncomfortably.

Worried, Harry touched the scar and hissed, pulling her hand back quickly. It was painfully uncomfortable and had never acted like this before; she wondered if she had agitated the mark by running through the brush whilst trying to escape the knight.

Miserably, Harry found a small jar of honey and dipped her finger in the amber liquid. Pressing a small amount to her forehead, Harry sighed deeply. It worked only sometimes, but she found that the native honey from her small bee farm, tended with years of care, reduced the pain and swelling in her cuts. Harry carefully tied her fringe back with a string in her hair, keeping her newly clean hair away from the sticky mess.

* * *

Petunia was a frightfully horrid mess that morning; she took one look at Harry’s swollen forehead and flew into a rage, cursing Harry up one side and down another. It took Harry’s constant placating ( _no I didn’t meet anyone yesterday, no I’m not lying, I’m sorry, please, I just tripped and fell, please Aunt Petunia, I promise_ ) before the miserable shrew would leave Harry alone for five minutes. It hardly helped that Harry felt quite miserable upon recalling how much a fool she had made herself to a Death Eater, wondering if she had brought an unintentional plague on her small village.

Voldemort’s countrymen were hardly known for their kindness and they often retaliated to impudence with murder. Somehow, Harry felt like the black knight she’d met the night before was hardly any different.

Eventually Aunt Petunia left Harry alone for long enough to finish her daily chores and it was only during kneading a particularly large loaf of dough and day dreaming about nonsense that it eventually sunk in that she had been _kissed by a member of the knight’s guard_ and turned the shade of fire. Somehow, thinking back on the moment, it had felt more like a kiss of death than passion and the ashy tingling feeling from the night before burst on her lips, making her wonder if she had been cursed.

* * *

Time wore on, the seasons waning and waxing, and Harry eventually forgot about her chance encounter with the King’s guard, drowned in her struggles with her family and the farm and everything about her countryside. A brutal drought raged through the lands, making the peasants miserably uncomfortable as more and more of the King’s men raided their village, looking for grain, horses, girls – anything of perceived value they could get their hands on.

It became so brutal that eventually even Petunia, with her pinched horse face, had seen enough harassment to stay at home, sending out Harry under the guise of boy’s clothes to the village to gather supplies, even though the young woman had turned nineteen and struggled to pass by as a boy these days. The villagers muttered angrily as time went on and the drought refused to let up, for nearly four years of rainless skies and soil so fruitless it was worth less than the salted lands of Carthage. The villagers muttered that it hadn’t been this horrid since times before the Old King and Old Queen had been fated to one another by the fae, when the Old Queen refused the Old King’s hand in marriage and the lands punished the two for their obstinate pride.

It showed the countryside was becoming wild, untamed, to be speaking of the Old Ones. Harry hadn’t heard much of them, as addressing the Old Ones often caused the King’s men to burn villages in revenge. But the mutterings and rumours were unstoppable and they spread faster than pollen on the wind. Harry heard most of the rumours by sneaking through into the village to gather supplies, avoiding the king’s drunk soldiers raiding her small village. Back when Voldemort took over the kingdom, nearly fifteen years ago now, the people had been mutinous; they had loved the Old Ones. But there was a rumour the Old Ones had a daughter, one who had been shuffled out of the castle before it was raided by Voldemort’s forces, and the people thought one day she would ascend to the throne to topple Voldemort’s forces. It was an old faerie tale, a perceived prophecy by an unknown oracle that Harry had heard, spoken only in whispers around a campfire. But now the people lost even hope in the legendary prophecy.

The lands grew barren, the mines of minerals dried up, and the people starved in their own homes. In the absence of hope, people grew vicious.

The people were talking of revolution – and Harry knew it was only time before Voldemort’s men came to remind them who their masters really were.

* * *

By the side of an accursed, gnarled old tree, Harry glanced around a field lit only by a half-moon, cautiously making sure she was unwitnessed. Once assured that no one hid in the shadows of the surrounding trees, she pressed on a particularly gruesome looking gnarl and a small doorway popped out from the base of the tree, the entry no wider than to fit a large dog. Wiggling into the dark passageway and into the underground below, Harry sighed in relief as she pushed the doorway closed so it was once more hidden from the outside world.

“Harry?” A soft spoken voice whispered in the distance.

Harry grinned at the voice of her friend, Hermione. “I’m here,” she whispered back.

Hermione lit a small oil lamp, the glowing light sharp in the gloomy earthen tunnel. Harry grinned at Hermione, who rolled her eyes. “You are inappropriately excited for someone committing treason,” Hermione criticised, though it was hardly scornful; Harry would call that tone affectionate, on Hermione.

“Says the woman always ready for an adventure,” Harry replied, amused. Hermione waved her on down the hallway and Harry fell into an easy stride next to her best friend.

“Do you know who will be joining us?” Hermione asked worriedly, the brunette clearly more nervous than previously let on.

“Only that Ron and the twins will be there,” Harry answered softly, navigating their way through the labyrinthine tunnels. They were old miner tunnels used to move treasures between villages and later taken advantage of to relocate political refugees during the invasions; it was a near miracle that Voldemort’s soldiers hadn’t found this part of the underground network yet.

“Ron is bringing Lavender,” Hermione stated tonelessly, though Harry flinched at the words.

“Ron is an idiot,” Harry replied quickly, tossing an amused glance at her friend out of the corner of her eye.

Hermione didn’t reply, but looked vaguely pleased by Harry’s response.

“Ron said he might be able to get Dumbledore to attend,” Harry whispered, almost too quietly to be heard over their muted footsteps.

Hermione inhaled sharply, turning wide eyes to Harry.

“It’s a capital offence to conspire with a mage,” Hermione hissed, looking fraught.

“And conspiracy for treason isn’t?” Harry shot back, feeling a little defensive. Harry had only met Dumbledore a handful of times, but he was hardly _dangerous_.

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione sighed, carefully avoiding a root growing out of the tunnel floor, “But this is an _extra_ level of conspiracy. If we’re caught together without Dumbledore, we’re just stupid kids having a late night party. If we’re caught _with_ Dumbledore…” Hermione didn’t bother finishing her statement.

Harry knew perfectly well what it meant. Death by the knight’s guard or worse – one’s soul being consumed by a Dementor. There was no excuse for consorting with a mage, especially one of the only ones in the land vocally critical of Voldemort, even if he was pushed out to the border lands.

“It’s the only way,” Harry answered, feeling a little numb in her response. Everything had changed in the last few years. Babies went missing in the night, rumoured to be stolen by the fae and replaced a night later with a physically identical child, ones who stared at its parents with alien disinterest. Girls were kidnapped by soldiers in the light of day, never to be seen again by their families. Entire farms burnt to the ground, whether by drunk highwaymen looking for danger or by an out-of-control fire lit by the farm’s own hearth. The drownings in Harry’s favourite forest ponds had increased over the years, the nymphs angry and vengeful beyond explanation. Even Harry kept out of the forest these days, worried she would be the next floating body to be found by some unsuspecting passer-by.

Something, _anything_ , had to change.

“I know,” Hermione sighed, a large exhale forced from her lips. Hermione was the most logical person Harry knew; if even Hermione knew it was time to take drastic measures, then Harry felt safe in her decision.

Coming to the end of a long tunnel, Harry looked up at the wooden board in the ceiling covering the portal to the pub above.

“Give me a lift, then?” Harry asked, grinning at her friend.

Hermione rolled her eyes again and laced her fingers, squatting to give Harry a leg up. Between the two of them, Harry was lifted high enough to knock solidly in the agreed-upon pattern. A moment later, the wooden board moved and Harry blinked at the blinding light shining through into the tunnel.

“About time,” Ron chuckled, reaching down and pulling Harry up by her forearm. Rolling to the side, Harry made way for Hermione to be pulled up through the floorboards.

Hermione primly rose to her feet and dusted herself off, giving Lavender a graciously polite nod and smiling at Ron with passive, indulgent kindness.

“Bloody scary when she gives me that look,” Ron whispered to Harry, grinning as Hermione frowned, obviously having heard them.

Harry chuckled at her other best mate, punching him in the arm. He may be a clueless wanker, but he had been around enough for Harry to know that the boy meant well. Besides, Hermione may have a crush on the redheaded boy, but Harry also knows that Hermione needs someone to challenge her, intellectually. Hermione would probably chew up and spit out Ron before a year of dating eclipsed; Lavender, despite her surface level vanity, was actually quite a decent girl and was perfect for Ron (though Harry would never admit such a thing to Hermione’s face).

“Let’s get on with it, then,” Lavender stated, ignoring George and Fred behind her making faces at the younger woman.

Harry nodded, following Lavender into the next room. Upon seeing the wizened old Dumbledore sitting by the fire, Harry grinned and walked up to his side.

“Mage Dumbledore,” Harry greeted warmly. “Thank you for coming.”

Dumbledore’s shocking blue eyes twinkled at Harry over half-moon glasses, the man genial and calm but somehow pulsing with charismatic power. “Harry, my dear. You’ve grown so much since I last saw you; somehow you’ve grown even more charming than before, if that is possible.”

Harry smiled at the old mage, his words spoken in a manner one would address a favourite granddaughter. It was true; over the years she had finally developed into something of a woman (and embarrassed to need Hermione to explain more than half of the things happening to her, for Aunt Petunia was precisely no help at all) and it made her pleased to think Dumbledore was proud of her. It was very rare for Harry to receive compliments and Dumbledore’s unassuming and unthreatening manner eased her nerves.

“Come on, then,” Ginny called as she entered the room, laughing in warm companionship. “If you’re going to compliment one of the girls, you must compliment us all, old man.”

Dumbledore chuckled, turning to the rest of the room’s inhabitants. “I must say, it has been a very long time since I have seen such a young, attractive group. I must say that the last time that comes to mind is the Old One’s wedding.”

Lavender blushed prettily at the thought of being compared to the Old Ones, who were known for their fae-like beauty, whilst Hermione, Harry, and Ginny laughed in amusement.

“Ever the charmer, this one,” Ginny stated conspiratorially, winking at Harry. “One has to wonder how he’s not been taken.”

“Alas, that is the wonder of the ages,” Dumbledore replied, clapping his hands together. “But there is time for pleasantries later, my dears.”

Ron nodded quickly, clearly out of his depth in the face of floral, charming language and ready to get on with the planning.

“Luna is out this evening with her father; they’re getting ready for a Samhain ritual and she couldn’t make it,” Neville said at last, appearing to melt from the shadows.

Harry cast a warm smile to Neville, who she had not noticed before as Dumbledore commanded so much of the room’s attentions, but knew he was expected to be at the meeting.

“Ah yes, Samhain,” Dumbledore addressed. “I’m afraid we will have to be especially vigilant; the spirits are disturbed, more so than last year, and will require more sacrifice than usual to sate the spirit world’s influence.”

Harry shivered, an ill chill crossing over her flesh and raising goosebumps. Each Samhain had caused some ruckus or another in her life, whether it be catastrophic break downs of equipment in the farmstead, or fires in the fields, or some other strange drama that often captured her attentions. Four years ago, in the early evening of Samhain, she had been kissed by a black knight, who stole her first and only kiss before disappearing to obscurity.

Every year, for days leading up to Samhain and for a few nights after, Harry lit candles and carefully placed the illuminative flame in protective hallowed squashes along the porch to the farmstead (despite Petunia’s disgust of the old ways), to light the spirit’s path down the road. This faithful acknowledgement of tradition seemed to ease the strain the chaos caused on her life. But, for some reason, the cool winds blew especially hard on the nape of Harry’s neck this year, even when there wasn’t a breeze to be measured, and she felt the change of the seasons more harshly than the years before.

“We could sacrifice a wild boar,” Ginny offered, looking ready for the challenge.

“The spirits want to touch our world, not have more added to theirs,” Hermione countered, looking annoyed at the thought of another farm animal needlessly lost.

“It’s not uncommon to pay privilege to the spirits through sacrificial death,” Ginny snapped, annoyed.

“It certainly isn’t,” Dumbledore cut in, before the two girls could really get a row going. “But I don’t think a boar will suffice this year.”

A deathly silence fell over the group as they stared at Dumbledore in surprise.

“What are you proposing?” Hermione asked, paler than before.

“The lands are bare, the skies are dry, the rivers run only dust and ash,” Dumbledore replied thoughtfully. “This has only happened once in my lifetime, a time you were born in but would hardly recall.”

Neville shifted uncomfortably. “Are you speaking of the Old Ones?” He asked, nervous.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore confirmed. “The Old Queen refused the hand of the Old King and the gods were angry the fated couple denied the decision to unite them. The Old Queen denied the Old King’s hand and the land fell into terrible plague and famine. It was only through her decision to sacrifice herself to the gods and the Old King rescuing her in the legend’s tale that the lands were restored to peace.”

Harry found herself rolling her eyes before she could supress the annoyed action. It was a very old faerie tale, this one. That the Old Queen bared herself up for the spirit world’s consumption to save her lands and, driven by the whispering of the spirits, she was saved by the Old King (who was the Prince at the time) when he crashed the ritual and kidnapped her. It was romantic and sappy and completely useless; an old legend that was dramatised in the years since Old Ones died.

“You don’t think it is true?” Dumbledore addressed Harry, somehow having seen her scorn even though he hadn’t been facing her during her annoyed expression.

Blushing, Harry steeled her nerves and jutted her chin. “It seems silly to believe in such nonsense,” she answered. “There is no Princess to save us now, no Prince to rescue her from her own sacrifice and lead the lands to prosper.”

“But a sacrifice is necessary,” Ginny muttered, looking down. “Our mother has been in tears for days. The landowner will kick us off the property soon, even though we’ve been there for generations. He says it’s our poor management that has seen our grain farm die out. We can hardly afford to feed ourselves, let alone sell grain in the markets. The fields were ravaged by pests before we could harvest; the silos are completely empty and it’s the end of the harvest season.”

Harry blinked in surprise, suddenly realising that the twins had been uncharacteristically quiet. They frowned at one another, looking away from the group.

It seemed implausible – _impossible_. The Weasley lands were the most fertile there were, running through old volcanic lands and speared by a natural spring running through. If the _Weasleys_ weren’t able to harvest grain – the village was going to die, simply put. In fact, the entire border lands were going to die, if the Weasley lands were indicative of the condition of the countryside.

“If we don’t have food for the winter, the kingdom will let us starve,” Hermione stated blankly, looking haunted.

The entire group knew what this meant. Nearly five years ago, in a faraway annexed land that was part of the kingdom but on the fringes, a village had started to struggle and was reportedly unable to support its own people. Harry’s little corner of the kingdom had helped where it could, but soon the thick winters of the northern territory had blocked off the passageways with snow and Harry’s people couldn’t send aid any longer. Voldemort had reportedly laughed the peoples’ attempts to request assistance and, after a ferocious winter, the soldiers went to check on the villages and found the people had killed and eaten one another. The land was so cursed by the evilness and desperation and starvation of the people that the soldiers sent in dementors to consume what little survivors were left and then burnt it down to the grown. It was now a barren wasteland, useless to all and hollow of souls.

“I’ll do it,” Harry said suddenly and then there was uproar.

“Are you serious – ” Ron raged as Hermione cut off with, “You cannot even think for a moment that we’d consider – ” Ginny snapped, “Stop with the martyrdom, you ass, that’s hardly what I was saying before – ”

“I’m not joking,” Harry shouted over the chaos, glaring down the appalled faces of her friends. Dumbledore, somehow, looked unaffected, as if he had expected Harry to offer herself up for an ancient ritual sacrifice. Surprisingly, she felt herself stung by this realisation. “I’m an orphan,” Harry stated firmly. “I have no family – or, at least, a family that cares. I have no future, Petunia is looking at selling me to the blacksmith and we all know how that will go, the brute has already gone through two wives. Just – please,” Harry begged, voice turning rough, “Let me do this for you.”

“There’s no way,” Hermione stated firmly, grabbing Harry’s hands and looking sternly into her eyes.

“I’ll die anyway if I don’t do this, we all will,” Harry replied around the sudden lump in her throat. “And the sacrifice has to be willing. We couldn’t ask this of anyone else, Hermione. It would spoil the ritual, having someone do it who doesn’t want to; it’s tantamount to coercion, to even ask. _But I do_. I know you might think I’m martyring myself,” Harry glanced at an ashen-faced Ginny, “But I don’t care. Please.”

“We’ll find another way,” Hermione replied, eyebrows drawing together. Harry could see from the look on her face that she was already thinking of different ways to solve the matter.

“If you do, I will happily listen,” Harry answered. “But I don’t think there is, seriously. This is a traditional as old as our people and it has never failed.”

“Fuck this,” Lavender stated suddenly, her eyes alight with fury. “I cannot even believe we’re standing around, talking about _murdering_ Harry. I am going home, this was a shit idea, don’t bother contacting me unless you think of something better.”

Lavender left the room in a huff and Harry blinked after her, surprised by her sudden outburst. Harry and Lavender had never really gotten along, but they had never disliked one another. She was surprised by Lavender’s defence.

Looking torn, Ron gazed after Lavender.

“Go on after her, Ronnikens,” Fred stated, his normally chipper tone dulled. “You know you want to.”

Ron frowned at his brother before throwing an apologetic expression at Harry and raced out of the room.

“That twat,” Ginny stated bluntly.

“I think we’ve spoken on this enough for tonight,” Dumbledore said at last, breathing through a deep sigh. “Go home, sleep on it, and we should convene again in a few night’s time. Harry, my dear, stay behind, will you?”

The groups said their goodbyes and Harry stayed behind as asked, at last in the dark room by Dumbledore’s side, the crackling fire spitting small sparks from its hearth as if reaching out to touch Dumbledore’s presence.

“You knew,” Harry said, looking down through her eyelashes at her feet. “That I would offer myself as sacrifice.”

“I did,” Dumbledore answered, sounding sad but accepting. “It is in your blood, to give yourself up for your people.”

Harry looked up in surprise. “Did you know my parents?” She breathed, wondering why he had never spoken of this before.

Dumbledore smiled sadly at Harry, halfmoon glasses reflecting the light and partially hiding his gaze. “I did. They were wonderful people, Harry. They would be so proud to see you today.”

“What were they like? What did they do? Who _were_ they?” Harry asked in quick succession. This was the first time _anyone_ had spoken of her parents, not including the rude, seemingly baseless accusations of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, who seemed to know basically nothing of Harry’s parents other than some spiteful insults.

“They were very much in love, but too proud to admit it,” Dumbledore sighed, looking as if he were surrendering to a memory. “Your mother was so passionate, Harry. She loved you very dearly. Your father too. He was strong in a way that your mother adored. And she bore that scar, too, though it was in the shape of circle rather than a lightning bolt,” Dumbledore added, pointing to Harry’s fringe.

Blushing, Harry smoothed her hair over her forehead. Since that fateful All Saints Day when she had woken up with a swollen, bleeding forehead, the scar had never fully healed. It didn’t bleed anymore, but it did occasionally ache and it was red like an angry welt. Harry could hide it mostly behind her hair; it was embarrassing and Petunia had always impressed upon her to never show it to anyone, lest the village think she was diseased.

“It’s not possible to have hereditary scars, I didn’t think,” Harry replied at last, pushing past her embarrassment.

“Only very rarely,” Dumbledore answered evasively. “It was a special mark in my day, not very known by the common folk of the Old Country but easily identified in certain circles.”

Harry felt exasperated with Dumbledore’s useless answers. “So my parents were famous?” She asked, feeling it an innocent enough question for Dumbledore to answer without his usual side-stepping tactics.

“You could say,” Dumbledore answered, shrugging. “They were very well known about, but very few people actually _knew_ them, one could say. I promised them I would tuck you away from the war, protect you from the world, when Voldemort’s fleets were at our doors.”

Sighing, Harry realised that the old mage wasn’t going to give her anything helpful to go on, to her endless frustration. Only the spirits could come up with such a laughably annoying person to answer her deepest questions about her past.

“I will say, though,” Dumbledore stated suddenly as Harry made to move, “That you must follow your instincts, Harry. Listen to what the spirits tell you to do. Do not falter in your step, or we will all be doomed.”

Blinking at Dumbledore’s oddly prophetic tones, Harry nodded quickly and left before Dumbledore could confuse her any further.

* * *

Samhain rushed upon Harry before she had time to reconsider her position. Unfortunately for Hermione, despite her extremely vehement protests that she would not allow Harry to sacrifice herself, was not able to find a solution to the growing troubles of their people other than Harry’s proposed solution. Harry avoided speaking to her friends, if only to shy away from their guilty, sad eyes.

At last, Samhain was upon them. Harry set out the yearly hollowed squashes and carefully lowered her candles into them. She had used all her savings to purchase as many candles as she could, nearly a thousand of the little things, and she set out more than usual the garden path along until the family’s estate lit up with glowing warmth. Harry carefully placed small tealights in the trees throughout the estate, to guide the spirits along their weary path. When she died tonight, she wanted a clear guide on her way to the spirit world.

Harry left the house in a solemn state, following Dumbledore’s instructions that she would know what to do, to follow her instincts if she really were a willing sacrifice. She had dressed in the now heavily worn fur coat the knight had given her over a white lace ritual dress. It was gifted to her tenderly by a solemn Dumbledore on their last meeting, a traditional nymph-made dress he had somehow acquired for the Samhain ritual.

Harry walked towards the nymph forest, barefooted but hardly feeling the cold despite the lateness of the season. As she followed the path toward the forest and using the candle-lit guides of the neighbouring properties to guide her, Harry felt a soft peace fall over her. The long walk turned into a trance, her eyes alight with the reflection of thousands of tealights despite there being only little candles in pumpkins guiding her way, set out by the few pagan neighbours in their farmlands. Her step grew solid as the spirits placed her feet securely in the loose soil, her breath sure as they warmed her lungs.

Harry arrived at the edge of the forest and realised she had not remembered the long journey, her only recollection an effortless walk and feeling warmed by the fur coat. Her nerves were so numbed that she did not jump in shock at the sight of nymphs merging from the heavily shadowed woods, melting into sight as if borne from the trees themselves. One approached her, a pair of large stag antlers in her hands, and she pressed the heavy headdress into Harry’s hair, soft fingers curling under Harry’s chin before a kiss pressed against her sluggishly bleeding lightning bolt scar. Eyes alight and expression entranced, Harry let the nymph lace her cool fingers within her own and was led into the depths of the forest.

It was as if time skipped a beat again, for Harry was suddenly in a dark clearing, lit only by a half-moon, and the guide nymph stepped back and melted into the shadows. Harry was alone and she approached a heavy stone alter, the ancient granite carved with runes and overgrown with moss from disuse. She felt herself climb onto the alter, laying down and sighing with relief as her journey came to an end.

A figure emerged from the edge of the clearing and Harry, for the first time, she felt a swell of fear surge up her throat. This was not right, she was meant to lay here until the spirits took her home. Harry’s instincts flared up, warning her _danger_. Just as she moved to sit up, Harry cried out in pain and collapsed hard against the stone alter, body arching violently as the creature reached out and induced such pain in the very marrow of her bones, so painful that she was sure she had been set on fire. Harry gripped the sides of the alter, her body bowing, eyes rolling into the back of her head as her mouth screamed silently.

Suddenly, the pain was gone and Harry whimpered, collapsing once more and inhaling a trembling, terrified breath. She turned hesitantly toward the figure by her side, too exhausted from the agony to even try to run, and cringed away from the sight.

A floating, black cloaked figure hovered by the side of the alter, a monster borne of deep misery and despair. It was not a dementor but rather something more insidious; a demon, a beast.

The creature approached, reaching out with rotting hands and Harry inhaled sharply, rolling to the side of the alter and falling off, hitting the mossy dais below with a painful _oomph_.

Scrambling to her feet, Harry felt a sudden animalistic drive to _run_ burst through her veins. She was the Sacrifice and she was going to stolen from the Ritual by a monster; she couldn’t let it happen, no matter what. Exploding into motion, Harry lurched into a run that was impossibly fast for her human legs, and yet she breezed through the forest like a startled doe. The heavy antlers on her crown weighed nothing more than air, the slippery forest floor beneath her feet as sure as a beaten path, her candle-lit eyes seeing like daylight in a forest nearly pitch black.

Harry could feel it behind her, the monster taking chase. It was evil, _horrid_ , it wanted to eat her alive and go after her village next. It was going to destroy everything and everyone she ever loved. Harry ran not for her life, but for village’s life.

Time passed by once more without notice, the moon shifting in the sky as it sunk to the ground, her time to finish the ritual slipping by her too quickly. Harry panted harshly as she kept running, impossibly never reaching the end of the forest, knowing she should have reached it hours ago and yet running through endless thickets.

A rumbling in the distance bothered Harry, but she was too tired and worn and frantic to pay it real attention. The creature was practically nipping her heels, racing after her, she was hardly tiring but the milliseconds she was slowing was enough for it to catch up.

Harry cried out in pain as she was, strangely feeling like déjà vu, swept off the forest floor as a horse stampeded by. Harry was pressed into a warm frame, her back bracketed by strong arms and braced by a firm chest, her fur coat encased around her once more and the rabbit beat of her heart racing like a caged animal.

“It’s right behind me, it’ll catch me, let go,” Harry cried as she struggled wildly, bucking against the cantering gallop of the large black horse she sat astride, without saddle and caged by strong forearms gripping the steed’s mane. “Please, you don’t understand, _it will catch me_ ,” Harry pleaded, unable to turn around in the strength of the rider’s arms.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” a voice whispered in her ear and Harry inhaled sharply, her panic suddenly dulling. The world faded around her as her vision tunnelled, her instincts flaring in response and she sunk against the chest of the man pressed behind her, sighing in relief. She was suddenly inexplicably placated, trusting the unseen man behind her to protect her. 

“Don’t go to sleep,” the man whispered once more in her ear, the horse’s pace impossibly fast, whipping through the forest with demonic speed. “If you do, the spirits will take you.”

Harry hummed in reply, sinking further into the man’s chest and tilting her head back on his shoulder, too tired to listen, her antler crown somehow not slipping off nor getting in the way. She let the unseen rescuer take her away from this hellish place, the monster in the background slipping away, her mind growing foggy and dazed.

“Wake up,” the man commanded, harshly, but Harry was fast asleep by the time the war steed burst through the forest’s edge.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry awoke slowly. She was in a dark room, a crackling fireplace spitting mutedly in the background. She raised her head to look around the room, the dim light of the fireplace casting long shadows around her. It was an old hunting cottage, with wood and stone walls, rough floorboards covered a large worn rug. Through a wide doorway, she could see a kitchen tucked away and a door leading to what she could only assume was the outdoors. Stag antlers and hunting paraphernalia lined the walls. On one side of the room, a large window displayed the dark night outside, thick, fluffy snowflakes floating by lazily.

Inexplicably, despite waking in a strange cottage after the scariest night of her life, Harry didn’t feel fearful at all. She lay in a high-quality bed, cool cotton linens under her bare limbs and lush furs pressing against her skin. The furs were stacked in a pile and she sunk into them, dropping her head and stretching leisurely. Her groan of satisfaction melted into a purr, her fingers sinking into the feather-down pillows at the head of the bed.

Over the side of the bed, Harry could see the antler headdress gifted her by the nymphs; it had come off at some point in her sleep, laying on the ground innocently as if they had not gifted her some power during the ritual.

Harry inhaled sharply, sitting up. That _thing_ , that horrid monster that had chased after her, tried to consume her _soul –_

Blushing, Harry realised she was fully bare and pulled one of the furs up to hold up against her torso, wrapping it tightly against her skin. It was a high-quality fur, like the one she slept with each night the Knight had given her.

Recalling her rescuer, Harry craned her neck to look around the edge of the bed and beyond into the kitchen. The cabin was fully empty, not another soul in sight. But there was a cooling pot of hot water on a wooden stove top, a pair of gloves left by the side of the door out into the snow. Whoever had rescued her would come back and soon, if only to retrieve their gloves.

Harry gingerly stood to her feet and swayed, energy sapped by the movement. She found her ritual dress hanging over the back of a leather armchair; it had been washed and was dry, but it was torn and stained beyond salvaging. Harry realised she had been bathed too, her skin only covered by light blemishes from the run through the forest and her hair almost fully dry, just a slight dampness to her fringe. Harry’s hand flew up to her forehead; whoever had bathed her must have seen the mark, and it was almost more horrid of a realisation than the thought she had been undressed, washed, and tucked bare into a stranger’s bed. But she didn’t feel like she had been touched or hurt, there was no soreness to her that was unexpected (other than the residual burn in her thighs from running through the forest), and it seemed her rescuer had done everything in their power to protect her up until now.

But Harry had been around enough people to know that the longer a thread one gave someone, the more they took. She was hardly going to stick around, waiting for the other boot to drop.

Harry opened a small cupboard door and sighed in relief at the sight of men’s shirts, some boots, a pair of clean boxers, and a few pairs of trousers. They were all black and Harry rubbed the cotton fabric between her fingers; the shirts and pants were good quality, imported. The boxers and socks were too, made of a thicker material but breathable. Harry quickly pulled on the smallest sized of the clothes, tucking the large shirt into her confiscated boxers and yanked the pants over them both. Pulling a belt out of the small cupboard, Harry carefully laced it through the pants to keep them from falling off. A man’s knitted jumper and a thick woollen cloak with a large hood were the only two coats available. Picking the cloak to keep the unseasonal snowstorm at bay, Harry wrapped it around her shoulders, the large swath of fabric swamping her frame and pooling at her feet. Harry wonders if she looks like a dementor, swallowed in black as she was.

Harry tugged on the boots and, after a moment’s thought, pulled a small hunting dagger off the mantle of the fireplace. She doubted the man left his cabin without his main weapon – she wouldn’t be leaving him defenceless. She tucked the dagger into a leather satchel, wincing as the sheer amount of things she was taken from what could only be a hermit or hunter or lumberjack of some kind.

It was terribly rude (and potentially jinxing herself for her stealing from her rescuer) to take so many things and run, but Harry couldn’t stick around for whenever the man came back. She’s not sure what he has planned, but it couldn’t be a good sign that he left her stark naked on his bed. As the moments went by, Harry grew more and more stressed by the idea of being alone in this cabin with the unknown man.

Harry poured herself a glass of cooled water, drinking deeply. She tucked one of the many bread loaves into her satchel (momentarily arrested by the sight of preserving runes carved into the basket – this wasn’t just _any_ man, to afford such a luxury) and slipped through the cabin door into the frozen night, her footprints hidden by the quickly growing flurry of the snowdrift.

* * *

Harry walked for three days in the snow. She didn’t dare light a fire, lest she garner the attention of nearby parties, or gods forbid the attention of the hunter she had scorned. She had been surprised to find herself in the middle of a forest, but it was unlike the Nymph Forest near her family’s estate. The nymph’s forest was humid, teeming with life, buried under years of undergrowth and ivy and lush, wide leafed fronds. Tropical, the visiting soldiers used to call it, before the drought sucked any moister from the land.

In the forest Harry found herself stranded, the trees were spread apart and they were old and large. They looked like the redwoods she had seen carved into furniture those rare times she visited the carpenter’s store in town. The forest was immensely quiet in the snow, no birds or insects or small scurrying animals to fill the background. Occasionally, Harry walked past a set of large paws prints, looking like a massive dog’s tracks, and she quickly passed on. Even though it was difficult to walk in the thick snow and it slow going, she was glad that the constant drift covered her steps and muted her scent.

Despite her strange surroundings, Harry felt like she was… Safe. The cold made her cheeks red and the crispness tingled her eyes and ears, and she could see white frost beginning to grow on her eyelashes. But Harry wasn’t hunger or tired or thirsty. She had been walking for day and night without pause and she didn’t fade once, the strange magic forest encouraging her on.

On the evening of the third day, Harry began to properly grow tired. She didn’t want to set up camp without shelter (the looming grey clouds looked plump with a heavy snowstorm) so she continued on. To her surprise, just before it grew properly dark, she smelt the smoke of a wood fire burning in the distance. Picking up her pace, Harry moved quickly until she could just make out a lantern light in the distance. She hedged around a fence gate and slipped through, approaching the cottage warily.

It was a lovely, merry little thing. Inexplicably, about two metres away from the house, it appeared that winter ended completely and summer began. Blossoming ivy wound its way up the cottage walls and lush spring flowers bloomed in the window planters. Golden light spilled from the windows, flooding the forest floor with cosy warmth. Little puffs of grey smoke chugged out of the stone chimney, smelling like cedarwood and fresh bread.

Harry drew near, entranced. It was quite possibly the loveliest little house she had ever seen.

The door creaked open and Harry jumped minutely, looking around for somewhere to hide.

“Don’t be shy, my dear,” an old woman croaked, her voice rough from age and lack of use, but as warm and welcoming as a grandmother. “Come in, come in. I’ve made stew for dinner.”

Harry blinked at the silhouette of the woman in the doorway; she was a tiny, hunched little thing. _How does a little grandmother survive out here?_ Harry thought to herself in surprise. But she was so tired, the house was spilling warmth, and Harry was suddenly _so_ cold. Harry let herself be shuffled into the little magical summer house, hiding in the heart of a winter storm.

* * *

The old woman was very lovely and kind; she carefully disrobed the large cloak off Harry’s shoulders and quickly led her to a pre-drawn, steaming bath. Harry laid in the bath in ecstasy, the tension draining from her shoulders. The bath was so warm, encompassing. It laced with jasmine perfumes, a hint of something spicy that was vaguely familiar, and the scent of worn leather. The surface of the water was opalescent like a pearl and it swirled with curious spiral curls of steam off the ever-changing surface of the water; Harry reasoned it must be the salts the old woman had placed in the bath and thought nothing more of it.

The old woman eventually returned once Harry was napping cosily in the somehow uncooling bath. She washed Harry’s hair in the milky waters and lead Harry out of the bath, drying and warming her with a large fluffy towel.

“You have been so kind to me,” Harry said dozily, once she was sitting in front of a large dining table with broths, a perfectly baked ham, fresh bread, and a sweet slice of cake in front of her. She had been firmly tucked in a delicate, cosy white nightgown, the tightly woven lace heavenly soft against her skin.

“Of course, my dear,” the old woman said, impressing the importance of the food upon Harry by sliding the plates closer. “Eat, darling, before it grows cold.”

Harry smiled indulgently and lifted a utensil. She sliced into in the ham as if it were butter and speared it on her fork, lifting it to her lips. Just as Harry went to take a bite, she looked up at the old woman and she dropped her fork in shock, the metal clattering loudly against her plate.

The old woman’s face had distorted, her eyes reptilian and slitted. The old woman’s jowls were suddenly very squared and her face was angular – diamond shaped. The curve of her body was twisted in a coil, as if her spine were curled and her body ached to stretch. The thing’s expression was ravenously hungry.

 _She looks like a snake_ , Harry thought, her hazy mind snapping to attention.

Abruptly, in the blink of a startled eye, the old woman looked exactly as she had a moment before – like a softly weathered, endearing grandmother.

“What is it, my dear? Would you prefer to start with a broth?” The old woman asked indulgently, completely unthreatening in her tone and mannerism. She did not move from her position across the suddenly very small table.

Harry stared at the woman, wide eyed. Her heartbeat thumped loudly in her ears. The cosy laziness clouding Harry’s judgement, the comfortableness that had seemed so welcoming before, now pushed against her unbearably. It was like a heavy weight on her shoulder saying, _relax, my dear, eat relax_ _then **sleep**_.

It wasn’t Harry’s thoughts that were encouraging her to feel warm and safe and comfortable – the old woman was somehow doing it, was somehow in her mind and _impressing_ upon Harry.

Harry shifted in her seat and the old woman reflected the movement, almost too quickly to be seen but Harry caught the nearly unnoticeable movement. The old woman looked sharper than before, yet the snake-visage did not return.

“Now, now,” the old woman tutted, “None of that. Eat your food, my dear, and then off to bed with you. You have had a _very_ long day. You must be so, so very tired.”

Harry pushed against the cosy haze that threatened to take over, now more suffocating than ever before. The harder she fought it, the harder it pushed back.

“What are you?” Harry asked, voice strained. She wanted to look for an exit or create a plan to escape, but she could not draw her eyes away from the woman’s eyes, which were slowly bleeding from brown to gold.

“Don’t you mean _who_ am I?” The old woman corrected, her voice echoey in ways it was not before.

“I mean what I said,” Harry said firmly, gripping the table. Thinking to herself with annoyance, _screw this,_ Harry rose firmly to her feet.

The oppressive spell abruptly shattered and the old woman leapt across the table with the vicious strike of a viper. Harry grabbed the woman’s neck as it elongated impossibly, yanking it to the side and throwing the woman- _cum_ -snake off her and to the side of the cottage kitchen. The old woman stumbled and _slithered_ , writhing as she hit the hot grate of the fireplace and hissing loudly.

Harry barely paid the monster attention, racing out the nearest doorway in search of the cottage’s exit. Somehow, impossibly, there were no doorways she could see. She stood in a _sealed_ living space, surrounded by plush furniture, a crackling fire, and _no escape._

“You stupid, foolish child,” the snake-woman said, chuckling.

Harry felt the hairs on her neck and arms rise instantly, her skin breaking out in goosebumps. She turned slowly on her heel to face the monster in the cottage.

The snake-woman was more snake than woman. She was a creepy amalgamation of beast, her slitted, yellowed eyes glowing like molten gold ore in the firelight. Her wrinkly skin now scaly and grey, her body distorted beyond perception, as if shoved into a human suit. But she still stood on two feet and she looked a fright more comfortable in the environment than Harry felt.

“You could have died happily, warm and cosy in your ignorance,” the snake-woman continued. “But no, you had to fight back. That is what you are always doing, isn’t it, you stupid little idiot? Fight, fight, fight. Now, you will die, but you will be awake, and I will make it _hurt_.”

“You are so gross,” Harry snapped, her temper suddenly flaring, her captivity making her furious and defensive. “And if you come any closer, I’ll cut your fucking head off.”

The snake-woman released a surprised serpentine laugh. “With what, a cushion?” She replied sardonically, gesturing to a nearby settee with sarcastic amusement.

Harry launched at her stolen leather satchel, rolling as the snake-woman released an inhuman screech and leapt at Harry. Harry grabbed the satchel and scrambled against the side of a wall, kicking out at the snake-woman’s face and clocking her in the mouth with the edge of her heel.

As the snake-woman grabbed her mouth, reptilian eyes wide in surprise, Harry yanked the hunter’s small dagger out of the satchel and scrambled to her feet.

“With this, you bitch,” Harry snarled lowly, crouched and ready to attack.

The snake-woman’s eyes narrowed and the two women launched at one another. Harry struggled against the snake-woman, slashing as the beast waved and dodged, the two curling around one another in an attempt to destroy the other.

At last, after several heart-stopping moments and just when Harry felt herself beginning to lose equal footing in the fight, Harry felt her dagger catch and the snake-woman gasped, eyes widening in surprise.

The snake-woman stumbled back, her expression appalled. She looked down at her stomach, a revolting writhing mix of stacked snake, and she held the dagger plunged into her stomach with electric shock.

“A cursed dagger?” The snake-woman asked, shuddering. “Where the _hell_ did you get your hands on a cursed dagger?” With barely another breath, the snake-woman collapsed and the thin veneer of a human body holding her together disintegrated, the snake within spilling out in a heaping tangled mess.

Harry blinked down at the floor in surprise, shocked and vaguely revolted by snake-woman. She had expected… _More,_ to take the thing down, had expected to have to fight all night long. But, looking at the serpentine body on the ground, it was clear the beast was dead. Or perhaps it was just extremely injured and would potentially either heal or wake up soon – and Harry didn’t want to stick around for that.

Grabbing a fire poker, Harry gingerly moved the tangled rolls of the snake’s body, cringing each time she thought she saw it move by itself. But the snake appeared dead, if not comatose, and Harry yanked the cursed dagger out of somewhere in the middle of the thing’s stomach. Once the dagger came free, the snake made a miserable moaning noise and blinked at her weakly from the ground. Harry quickly pulled the dagger back to her side, wiping off dark black blood on a nearby throw.

‘You have ruined everything,’ the snake (no-longer-woman) said.

‘I am sorry, I guess, for ruining your body. But I’m not sorry for attacking you. You tried to kill me first,’ Harry said firmly. She did feel a little bad now that she was looking down at the floor at the defeated thing, but she mostly felt vindictive that this creature wouldn’t be hurting anyone else anytime soon.

The snake’s eyes widened marginally. ‘You speak my language,’ the snake said, sounding confused, in as much as a snake could.

‘Of course,’ Harry said, eyebrows drawing together. ‘You have always been able to speak. Don’t you remember?’

The snake narrowed its eyes at Harry and she got the faint feeling like she was being harshly judged.

‘You are a Parselmouth, you idiot,’ the snake said – rather rudely, Harry might add.

‘Alright,’ Harry replied impatiently. ‘I don’t know nor care what that means. Where is the exit?’

‘You are not speaking English, you imbecile,’ the snake snapped again, as if it were Harry being the thick one.

‘You’re talking nonsense,’ Harry sighed, pityingly at the clearly scrambled creature. They did not have many snakes back home and Harry had never met one; rumour had it that the king could speak to snakes in a secret ancient language and had invited them into the inner kingdom to live. Harry had seen them before on the king’s banners and had heard of them in stories, but she had never met one. So far, she had decided that they could not be trusted and they were extremely rude. Of course the king’s favourite animal would be a snake.

‘I do not care to fight with what I thought was going to be my dinner,’ the snake snapped, as if she felt the fight wasn’t worth even her time. ‘Leave the house or leave me alone, I don’t care either way.’

‘Will you get better?’ Harry asked, shifting on her feet. The snake did look awfully pitiful, laying on the floor like a paralysed fish.

‘I don’t know. I may if I had something to eat. Say, come closer, would you?’ The snake asked, hopeful.

‘I don’t think so, you hag,’ Harry replied simply, perhaps a bit too chipperly for the snake’s tastes, if its reptilian grimace was anything to go by. ‘But I could bring you a rabbit of some sort.’

‘There are no living creatures in these woods,’ the snake snapped. ‘Why do you think I debase myself to eating disgusting humans?’

Harry blinked at the snake in surprise. ‘Do you not live here by choice?’ She asked slowly.

‘Do you think I would live in the middle of snowy forest with no food other than the occasional lost idiot if I didn’t have to?’ The snake hissed.

Harry sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘I will make a deal with you,’ Harry said, feeling like she was going to get royally bitten on the butt for even considering such a thing. ‘I will help you get out of here and you will stop eating people in your creepy human suit – actually, just in general. No people eating.’

The snake stared up at Harry suspiciously, as if Harry were the one trying to eat her. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’ The snake asked.

‘Because, like you said, I’m an idiot,’ Harry replied, giving the snake a derisive smile.

The snake looked appeased by Harry’s answer. ‘I am Nagini,’ the snake – Nagini – said.

‘Harry,’ Harry replied, considering the snake’s name. It sounded awfully familiar, but she couldn’t place it to save her life. ‘Let’s look at getting the hell out of here, hm?’ Harry asked, feeling like it was high time she figured out what the heck was going on and how to get home.

* * *

Harry ended up finding her clothes burnt in the fireplace and was rather annoyed by Nagini’s actions.

‘You will find the clothes you need to in the closet upstairs,’ Nagini sniffed from her position on the floor by the fireplace. ‘I don’t hold onto _trash.’_

Harry followed the snake’s words and, to her surprise, discovered a beautiful bedroom with a closet full of lovely women’s clothes. There were dresses, pants, undergarments, shoes, and all kinds of other accessories, all in different styles and sizes. Harry ran her fingers through the plush fabrics, amazed. She ended up selecting a practical pair of trousers, a camisole and cashmere sweater, and a heavy winter cloak and pair of leather shoes that looked sturdy enough for the winter walk.

‘Where on earth did you get all these things?’ Harry asked Nagini as she stepped back down onto the first floor landing.

‘My meals bring me all the supplies I need,’ Nagini answered from the sitting room.

Harry blanched, looking down at her clothes. She was wearing the clothes of _dead people_.

“Ew,” Harry said to herself, feeling icky.

‘Don’t be such a brat,’ Nagini called. ‘Now come get me and let us get out of here. I have been trapped here for at least two decades and I am ready to leave.’

Harry approached the snake warily. It certainly _seemed_ ready to leave, tiredly laying on the ground as the sluggish wound in her side stitched up, healing quicker than natural.

‘If you bite me, you’ll be stuck here forever,’ Harry warned as she neared the thing.

‘If I bite you, I’ll stop having to listen to your annoying voice,’ Nagini countered, sending Harry a challenging look.

Harry huffed a laugh as she tenderly laid her fingers on the snake, cringing but refusing to back down. The snake’s caustic humour was actually amusing, if Harry conveniently forgot that the snake was a possessed devil woman who could speak. Harry lifted the snake gently, adjusting her carefully when the snake hissed in pain, and she wrapped the long thing around her shoulders.

‘Oomph, you’re heavy,’ Harry told the snake.

‘Put on a coat, I’m cold,’ Nagini commanded, flicking her tail at a coatrack. Harry followed Nagini’s tail and was surprised to see an entrance hall appear branching off the sitting room, a doorway that hadn’t been there a moment before melting into existence. On the coat hook was several large fur coats and Harry approached them with relief.

Once Harry had wrapped a large fur coat, big enough to fit a large man but just the right size to wrap around Harry and Nagini on her shoulders, Harry collected her leather knapsack. She stared at the cottage’s front door, her heartbeat in her throat.

Somehow, Harry hadn’t slept for days, hadn’t eaten in even longer. But she was just only a touch tired, just a bit hungry. This was a weird, strange world she had found herself in and she was wary about adventuring back out into it. Some part of her wanted to stay in the cottage, the home a magical place of never-ending food, pearlescent waters that never ran cold, a crackling fire that never needed any fuel.

‘I can feel your heartbeat increasing, little one,’ Nagini was saying, then. For such a caustic snake, her tone was surprisingly soothing. ‘Relax. I will guide us.’

‘Why did you never leave?’ Harry asked as the snake’s diamond-shaped head slipped out of the coat and arched to look at her.

‘My body is bound to this house. Only the one who put me here can take me away. But I have a feeling that _you_ would be able to as well. Afterall, you are made for him,’ Nagini replied cryptically, before slinking back under Harry’s fur coat collar and resting her head in the hollow of Harry’s neck.

 _That’s not creepy or unhelpful at all,_ Harry thought to herself. Rather than asking the snake to elaborate, Harry decided to bite the sword and just get it over with.

Stepping out of the cottage, Harry approached the border where the summery bubble protecting the house ended, a thick layer of snow just beyond a well-defined, invisible border.

‘Go,’ Nagini encouraged, wriggling excitably.

Harry inhaled deeply and stepped across the border.

Both Harry and Nagini startled when the house behind them made a horrific creaking noise. Turning on her heel, Harry watched as the magical cottage began to slowly implode on itself. The summery enchantment keeping it perpetually in a different season snapped, curling in on itself as the cottage collapsed and turned to dust. Harry stared with a slack-jawed expression as the wonderful, magical cottage fell to the ground and became only a pile of ash where Nagini’s cottage once stood.

‘Were you… Anchoring the house?’ Harry asked the snake, unsure if she was using the correct word. Nagini had crept out of the fur coat to watch the destruction and turned to Harry to give her a dark look.

‘I suppose so,’ Nagini answered, uninterested. She headbutted Harry in the face, making the young woman squawk as the snake’s massive head collided with her cheek. ‘Move, woman. We have a lot of ground to cover and I’m hungry.’

Grumbling, Harry turned back around and let the prissy snake guide her out of the enchanted forest.

* * *

Harry walked for two days through the freezing snow, her only company the rude, massive snake wrapped around her neck. Nagini wasn’t that bad, but she was very practical and simple and yet absolutely refused to answer Harry’s questions with a straight reply.

‘So, who put you in the cottage?’ Harry had asked early on day one.

‘The same one who put you in the hunting cabin. Shut up and keep walking,’ Nagini had answered.

‘How many years have you been here?’ Harry had then continued bravely after stopping for a rest.

‘Time works differently in this dimension,’ Nagini replied.

‘What is a dimension?’ Harry pressed, curious.

‘Of course my saviour would be an imbecilic brat,’ Nagini had then commented, as if speaking to herself.

Harry had been so offended by the entirely unhelpful snake that she refused to speak to her for three hours.

On the second day, after a brief nap, Harry felt brazen enough to continue questioning the snake.

‘How old are you?’ Harry asked the snake, before quickly adding, ‘And none of this dimension junk talk.’

Nagini, to her credit, had been a fair bit less annoyed once her wound had fully sealed and her body warmed against Harry’s skin. ‘I suppose I am one hundred human years, at least,’ Nagini answered thoughtfully.

‘ _One hundred?_ ’ Harry yelped, nearly tripping on a snowy log.

Nagini reached out with her tail and slapped Harry upside the head.

‘If you drop me, I _will_ bite you,’ Nagini warned threateningly. ‘And there is no cure for my venom.’

‘What did you mean by saying that I am made for the one who put you in the cottage?’ Harry then quickly asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the snake threatening to bite her, especially with Nagini’s face so close to her throat.

Nagini tensed, then. Her tail wound around Harry’s waist and she heaved herself out of the fur coat, looking at Harry face as if poised to strike. Except, Nagini wasn’t threatening her – she was merely looking at Harry with narrowed eyes. Harry stopped, looking at the snake’s critical expression in surprise.

‘Surely you know who you are?’ Nagini asked then, annoyingly cryptic as usual.

‘Sure I do,’ Harry replied, shrugging and lightly jostling Nagini. ‘I’m a farmhand from the old Potter Kingdom, now part of the Riddle Kingdom. I’m nineteen years old. I sacrificed myself to the gods as part of the Samhain and ended up in this winter wonderland with a rude talking snake who seems incapable of answering a question,’ Harry stated crisply, raising a brow at Nagini pointedly.

Nagini began to laugh then, a strange hissing sound that shook the snake’s body. ‘You really have no idea,’ Nagini chortled through serpentine hisses. ‘Alright, well, I see my master has his work cut out for him.’

‘I don’t know what any of that means,’ Harry answered irritably, reaching up to push the snake back under the fur collar and continue walking through the thick snow. Damn the snake and her stupid riddles.

* * *

Harry reached the edge of the forest with Nagini’s tail guiding the way. Harry felt strangely compelled to walk away from the border, wanting to go in any direction other than _straight ahead_. Nagini told her to ignore it (‘You ignored my own enchantments when I tried to eat you, this should be piece of cake,’ Nagini sniffed) and it was difficult, but by staring at the end of Nagini’s tail to lead her in the direction she was supposed to go, Harry arrived at the border eventually.

Harry found herself in the middle of a field, an odd fabric in the space ahead of her just a foot away. It looked like the nymph veil, a thin fabric-like web that stretched across the length of the field and up as high as the eye could see. It was a wall, made of magic. It hummed as Harry neared, the wall rippling.

‘The wards,’ Nagini commented, as if that meant something to Harry.

‘How do I get through?’ Harry asked, peering through the magical ‘ward’. On the other side of the field, it looked exactly as it did on her side: snowy, overcast, dreary. The field continued on for as far as the eye could see: empty, white, silent.

‘By stepping through,’ Nagini answered exasperatedly.

‘Stepping through? It won’t hurt us, will it?’ Harry asked, looking down at her chest where Nagini rested her head.

‘I don’t know,’ Nagini replied. ‘But it’s better than living in this faerie circle for the rest of our damned lives.’

Harry jolted in surprise. ‘ _Faerie circle_?’ She gasped. ‘We’ve been stuck in a fucking – wait a minute, is that what you meant by _dimension_?’

‘Of course,’ Nagini answered, looking up at Harry as if she were as much an idiot as she first suspected. ‘This is where He puts his things, the things he wants to keep for a very long time without them growing old, the place he puts his precious belongings. Time has passed on the outside world, but it will not have been reflected here. I did not think He imagined that you would be tenacious enough to leave the cottage you described you woke up in, to find me and then best me in a fight. I imagine that if I had eaten you, you would have just been sent right back to where you had first woken up in the hunting cottage.’

Harry felt her mouth go dry at the thought. There had been something deliciously warm and pleasant about the hunting cabin, a striving hum that made her want to nestle back into the sheets and sleep forever. Perhaps the person that had put her there thought the enchantments he surely had woven into the cabin, the same as Nagini’s cottage, were strong enough to keep her trapped there.

It was a chilling thought.

‘Of course, he didn’t realise that you’re just as powerful as him, even if your magic is wild,’ Nagini added thoughtfully.

‘I don’t have magic,’ Harry replied, startled at Nagini’s words.

‘Of _course_ you have magic,’ Nagini shot back, annoyed. ‘How else would a normal human have reached the edges of a faerie circle? Do me a favour and grow some balls; I’m sure the magic would bend to your command if you simply told it to. Now, let’s see if you’re strong enough to go through the ward or if we’ll be spat right back in. Or worse, killed.’

Harry groaned at Nagini’s words. Despite the warning in her voice, Nagini sounded rather excited. She had clearly been in the fae circle for so long that any kind of excitement, even if it was potentially fatal, was better than spending another minute in the winter wonderland.

‘Alright, here it goes,’ Harry said, gritting her teeth and stepping forward with purpose.

Harry hit the veil like it was a physical wall, and yet she pushed and pushed and _pushed._ Nagini was making an odd hissing noise from under her coat but Harry ignored it, reaching up and shoving with all her strength. Just as Harry thought she wasn’t going to make it ( _I’m so tired,_ she thought suddenly) she fell through the ward suddenly, landing harshly on her hands and knees.

Harry yelped as she fell into the middle of an active battlefield, a bloody war being fought between men in black armour and peasants yelling war cries as they launched themselves at the soldiers, cut down in their path with cruel brutality.

Harry whipped her head around, keeping close to the ground, as she looked behind her and saw nothing but a battlefield. It was the same field she had been in not moments before, but it had been frozen in time when it was vacant. Now, in real time, she had accidentally stepped into the middle of a slaughter.

“How did you – ” A voice groaned and Harry scooted on her knees until she was facing an old man who was laid on his back in the dirty, bloody ground. A large wound was sluggishly bleeding him to death, a spear lodged deep in his stomach. His head was turned to the side and he looked at Harry with bleary eyes, an arm’s reach away from Harry’s body. “Where on earth did you come from, girl?” The man asked.

“It’s a really long story,” Harry answered quickly, flattening herself against the ground as a black armoured knight on a war steed stampeded by and she hid behind a cold, dead body of a peasant on her other side. “What day is it? What the hell is going on?”

“Me mother told me there was a faerie ring around here,” the man replied, his eyes growing dull. He laughed softly before choking, blood spraying out of his lips. “Never thought I’d see a real life fae before I died.”

“I’m not fae,” Harry hissed at the man, scooting over so that she could inspect the wound on his stomach. Pulling out the spear would certainly disembowel him, but if it was left in – well, the man simply didn’t have much time left.

“Of course you’re fae, little one,” the old man sighed, “This is the mark of the Old One.” He slowly reached out bloody hands to Harry’s forehead and pressed a bloody thumbprint against the bolt scar on her forehead.

Harry gasped as Nagini shot out of her coat, hissing angrily with massive fangs exposed and the man jerked his hand back.

‘Stay away!’ Nagini screamed, curling as she poised to bite the man.

‘Nagini, please! He’s dying!’ Harry answered, wrapping a hand around the snake’s neck and trying to tug her back.

“Parseltongue,” the man choked, eyes wide, and then his hand dropped out of the air. His filmy eyes turned blank, his body limp.

‘Parseltongue?’ Harry repeated dully, looking down at the now dead man with astonishment.

‘I told you,’ Nagini told Harry smugly.

‘Perhaps we should save your _I-told-you-so_ moment for when we’re not in the middle of a bloody battlefield,’ Harry replied distantly, her mind suddenly aware of the rushing noise of the battle around her. There was screaming, moaning, men hollering as they attacked one another. Metal clashed, the sound of whistling arrows splitting the sky haunting. Another man collapsed nearby Harry, an arrow deep into his forehead, and Harry flinched back.

She was on the outskirts of the battlefield, the main fighting nearly five hundred metres away, but she was too close for comfort. A young woman running through a battlefield in a fur coat would certainly gain attention and the last thing Harry needs is attention from either side. But there’s no way she’s staying here, not out in the middle of a war against what appears to be Voldemort’s soldiers and the people of the outer kingdom.

‘We need to make it to the forest edging,’ Nagini said, pointing her tail toward a tree line nearly a kilometre away.

‘Well, here goes nothing,’ Harry said, slowly rising to her feet, keeping low as Nagini wrapped around her shoulders tightly.

Harry began to run across the battlefield, dodging groaning peasants as they lay dying on the cold, slushy dirt field. It had snowed recently, but it wasn’t nearly as thick or crisp as in the fae circle. The ground was full of blood, the small patch of field Harry was in clearly having been the middle of the battle before it drifted off to the side.

Harry grit her teeth as she ran past her countrymen, feeling horrible for not stopping but knowing there was no time to save anyone, not until the battle ended and both sides could collect their wounded and dead. There were easily twenty dead peasants for one Death Eater, the bodies scattered in the horrific aftermath of a bloody assault.

A shouting voice caught Harry’s attention and she glanced to her side in horror. A Death Eater, one of the king’s personal knights, sat atop a large war steed and was pointing a massive sword in her direction. He was further away from Harry than she was to the line of trees, but he was also atop a large war steed. The Death Eater yanked on the reins of his horse and guided its galloping in Harry’s direction.

‘They’ve spotted you,’ Nagini hissed, urgent. ‘Don’t bother trying to keep low! Just run, Harry!’

Harry obeyed and then she was running full pelt at the line of trees, flying across the bloody, icy field as terror pumped in her veins. Harry could hear the galloping of the horse behind her, the thundering roar of the horse’s massive hooves trembling the ground. Harry burst through the line of trees and continued running, dodging between the thick forest undergrowth and ignoring Nagini’s hisses of annoyance as she was jostled around on Harry’s shoulders.

A sword whistled by Harry’s head just as she ducked to avoid a fallen tree in her path and Harry yelped as it dug into the trunk of a nearby tree.

‘ _Fuck!’_ Harry yelped, ‘That was close!’

Nagini, clearly fed up with being an uncomfortable guest on Harry’s ducking shoulders and being pursued by a member of the King’s guard, reared out of Harry’s coat and she hissed threateningly with her terrifying fangs at the knight closing in behind them.

‘Nagini!’ Harry cried out as her centre of weight shifted, losing her balance and tripping down a small gully into a narrow, freezing creek. She rolled and Nagini tucked against Harry’s body, protecting the young woman from hurting herself on the jagged stones in the creek.

“Halt!” The knight shouted, coming to a stop as Harry righted herself in the creek bed, the freezing water less than a foot deep but jarringly cold. Harry stared up at the knight, on her bruised hands and knees, as Nagini continued her threatening hiss at the man atop the high bank.

“What are you doing with the King’s snake?” The knight demanded, shifting on his war steed as he looked down the creek gully. Light hair spilled out from under his black, spiked helmet, and fell over his shoulders in a waterfall of platinum blond, the ends of his long locks stained red from splashes of blood.

“The _King’s snake_?” Harry repeated, aghast. “What in the seven kingdoms are you _talking about_?”

‘I might have forgotten to tell you,’ Nagini then said in a somewhat apologetic tone, turning to Harry. ‘I forget what you do and do not know.’

‘Oh, gods,’ Harry said quietly to Nagini, feeling suddenly very numb. Trembles began to take over Harry’s exhausted frame, shaking every inch of her. Despite being trapped in a timeless faerie circle, Harry _had_ been walking for over a week without food, rest, or water. The magical enchantments and adrenaline of the past fortnight was fading rapidly and her human exhaustion began to catch up with her, the cold water of the creek overwhelming as Harry’s mind began to shut down.

‘No, Harry,’ Nagini then said urgently, ‘You cannot go to sleep. He will just put us right back where we started! We have to keep running!’

Harry slipped and fell face-first into the water, her body giving up as the darkness rushed up to meet her.

* * *

Harry awoke in a dungeon. She jolted and began trembling, sitting up quickly as she wrapped her bare arms around herself. Mist exhaled from her nose and lips as she breathed, the dungeon dark and freezing, lit only by a candle at the end of a long hallway and casting her mostly in shadows.

Harry felt for Nagini and gasped as she realised the snake was _not here_. So was the fur coat, Harry’s boots, and her other clothes. She was in a long, thin grey nightdress, a straggly thing covered in rips and stains.

 _The uniform of a prisoner,_ Harry thought, shivering as she curled up on the bed of straw. It was so very cold, her limbs tingling and lips numb. Her knapsack and Nagini were long gone, no sign of them inside her cell. Harry crawled to the iron wrought bars lining the wall of her cage, peering out to the left and right. Across the hallway from Harry’s prison was another cell. It was empty, but there was fresh blood splattered on the walls and hay floor. Harry felt her stomach churn, turning away from the sight.

Harry backed away quickly when a loud clanging noise sounded and a massive man rounded the hallway at the end, coming into Harry’s line of sight. She backed deep into cell, hiding in the darkest corner, and curled her knees up to her chest. She watched with dark, wary eyes as the large man came to a stop in front of her cell. He was wearing a pointed leather mask over his face, the peak a good foot off his head, and he had a set of skeleton keys jangling at his portly belly. A metal tray was in his hand. _The prison guard_.

He made a tutting noise at Harry, as if summoning her like a cat.

Harry didn’t dare move, digging her nails into her palms as he looked up at him with her chin dropped against her chest, glaring at him through her eyelashes.

“Poor little kitty,” the guard said, chuckling. “You look very hungry, kitty cat. Come over here and give us a kiss, aye? Then kitty cat can have some milk.”

Harry sneered at him, disgusted. He was clearly an unintelligent man, but there was a cruel streak about him that Harry didn’t want to press.

“Aw, perhaps kitty cat will be nicer after a warm meal,” the guard chuckled, crouching down and pushing the tray in the two inch gap at the bottom of the iron wrought bars. He shoved it forward, the food sliding across the flagstones noisily, and Harry stared at it hungrily. Gods, it looked good.

“Go on,” the guard cooed, tapping his fingers against the metal bars. “Or I’ll take it away.”

Harry shifted, slowly moving until she could just reach the metal tray with her fingertips and then she snatched it up, pressing back into her corner.

“Good kitty cat,” the guard laughed. “I’ll be back for the empty tray. If you make a mess, you won’t get another tray.”

Harry ignored the man in favour for inhaling the stale bread roll, a slice of sour cheese, and a few strips of dried meat. Harry’s stomach growled angrily, wanting more food, but Harry merely placed the tray down carefully on the hay next to her when finished, waiting to see what he would do.

“Kitty was quite hungry,” the man said greedily, hands now holding the cage bars as he peered inside. “Would kitty like another meal?”

Harry stared at him through wary eyes, her stomach still churning with hunger but not daring to reply.

“All kitty needs to do is get on her pretty little knees and give me a long, wet kiss,” the man then continued, reaching down to unbuttoning his trousers.

Harry snarled and picked up the tray with deft finger, leaping to her feet and flinging it at him with all her strength. The metal stray spun through the air vertically, just missing the steel bars and beaming the guard right between the eyes on his stupid leather mask.

“ _Fuck_!” The man howled, hands flying up to grab his forehead. The jagged metal tray edge had dug into the leather, the thick fabric protecting his skull from being caved in but the tray edge still managing to carve into his flesh as it bounced off.

Harry trembled in anger as she stood on her feet, so _angry_ at this disgusting, horrible man, his words repeating in her head over and over.

 _How fucking dare he,_ Harry thought, snarling at him ferally.

“Crabbe, what’s going on?” A voice called down the hallway. Crabbe’s beady little eyes stared through his mask’s eye slits at Harry, narrowing in malicious glee, and he called back to the voice, “Prisoner Four attacked me.”

“Oh, for the gods,” the voice replied in an exasperated tone and steps echoed down the hallway.

Harry sat back down heavily in the corner of her cell, pulling straw up around her to protect her cold, numb toes as she waited for whatever punishment these freaks could dish out.

A Death Eater came into view in front of Harry’s cell. She quickly flicked her eyes down and turned to one of the dungeon walls to rest her forehead against the cold stones, shaking her head so that her fringe covered her forehead and face from view. The brief moment she had seen the man, she recognised the knight from the one who had captured her in the forest. Long blond hair spilled over his shoulders, now washed clean of blood. But his creepy helmet had been removed, exposing a young, aristocratic face beneath. He was young, perhaps her age, and he was stunningly beautiful in a sharp way. His black armour was still on, but it had been cleaned of the mud and blood splattered on it in the forest.

 _Are all Death Eaters gorgeous?_ Harry thought to herself venomously. If so, it certainly led credence to the idea that they had sold their souls to demons in exchange for their heart’s desires.

“I see that she attacked you,” the Death Eater drawled in an amused voice, Harry watching him turn to ‘Crabbe’ in the corner of her eye. “Which I find an interesting accomplishment for a little sparrow trapped in a dungeon cell. I also see that your pants are unbuttoned, my friend. Tell me, did she do that too?”

Crabbe grunted, quickly buttoning up his trousers. “Must’ve forgotten to do ‘em up after the loo,” Crabbe replied darkly.

“Of course,” the Death Eater replied, tone indulgent.

Harry didn’t buy this act for a second. She’d heard the knights were known for their psychological warfare, pretending to rescue their prisoners from the mean guards in order to gain their trust. Harry’s not sure if this is what is happening now, but she can’t dismiss the idea without proof.

“Crabbe, do yourself a favour and go clean up,” the Death Eater continued silkily. “I’ll deal with the prisoner.”

Crabbe grumbled and took off back down the hallway, collecting the dropped tray on his way out and shooting Harry a filthy look.

“I apologise for him, that was inappropriate,” the Death Eater said, aristocratic accent pitched low as he turned to Harry.

Harry ignored him, closing her eyes and breathing slowing as she cleared her mind. Her forehead was leant against the cool stone wall still, her body crushed into the corner. Despite how cold the dungeon was, her forehead felt hot and the wall soothing.

“Look at me,” The man suddenly said, a twinge of danger edging his voice.

Harry smiled, _gotcha_. All it took for the man to get nasty was a few minutes of ignoring him. Death Eaters really couldn’t playact being nice for longer than five minutes, Harry was beginning to realise.

“Yes, thank you for kidnapping me and then saving me from your sex-deprived guard, oh gracious black knight,” Harry answered sarcastically, throwing a darkly sardonic expression in his direction. “Though I didn’t realise your tradition for kissing rescued damsels in distress included expecting them to perform fellatio on your employees.”

The blond stared at Harry, his features carefully blank. He tilted his head, taking in the sight of her hidden in the dark corner, and he leant against the side of the cage casually.

“You’re rather mouthy for someone being tried for treason. As the saying goes, don’t you think you’d gather more flies with honey than vinegar?” The knight replied sharply, his smile too sharp to be genuine.

“Please, nothing would save me from being beheaded for treason, not even being nice to a twat in black,” Harry scoffed, sniffing pretentiously. “Might as well go down with a fight.”

The blond knight’s expression turned darkly pleased, his smirk growing into something malicious.

“Crabbe was right – kitty has sharp claws,” he answered slyly, grey eyes glittering in the dim candle light. “Tell me, what were you doing in the middle of a battlefield, dressed like a royal, carrying around the King’s snake?”

“I’ll save the juicy story for my trial,” Harry replied snappily, crossing her arms. “Now leave me be, I’m tired.”

A dark chuckle spilled out of the knight’s lips, the man leaning even more heavily against the cell as he peered within.

“Come over here,” the knight commanded, crooking his finger.

“No, thank you,” Harry replied primly. “I’ve already been within arm’s distance of a Death Eater more times than I care to recall. You lot are hardly gentle.”

At her words, the man perked up. “You’ve met my colleagues? Tell me, who was it?”

“Why do you care?” Harry asked, suspicious.

“So that I can call them down here, of course,” the man laughed cruelly.

Harry paled at the thought of that Black Knight she’d met all those years ago, coming down here and _laughing_ at her. Something twinged within her at the thought, a humiliation that bore deep inside. Harry, embarrassingly, had daydreamed about that knight over the years, pretending to herself that he was as sweet as he was caustic, as charming as he was rude. She had built up a fantasy around him, thinking she would never see him again. But for him to come down here – to see her filthy and hiding in the corner of a cell like a _rat_. No, just – no.

The blond knight seemed to take her pale terror to mean something else, as his eyes narrowed and he looked her up and down. “Did he hurt you?” The man asked, mouth twisting into a snarl.

Harry released a humourless laugh. “You cut down my people in our own villages, in the streets and on the battlefield. What would it fucking matter if one of your ‘ _colleagues’_ hurt me?” She spat, angrily. The Black Knight hadn’t hurt her, not really, but really – how dare this blond asshole pretend to be some white knight in shining armour after the slaughtering she had just seen.

“Let’s just say that we have explicit instructions to make sure you are kept unharmed,” the man replied, pulling away from the cell bars and shrugging.

“From whom?” Harry shot back, suspicious.

“Why, the King of course,” the blond man replied, grinning darkly.

Harry felt her heart stop in her chest for a stalling moment, before it exploded into action again, pumping adrenaline through her veins.

“The – the _King_?” Harry asked, appalled. “What on earth does the _King_ want to do with me?”

“Well, he’s very curious as to how you managed to find his pet,” the man answered, tilting his head as he studied her. “And he’s even more curious about that scar.”

Harry jolted back as he pointed at her forehead, instinctively smoothing her hair over her forehead. “I don’t have a scar,” Harry replied sharply.

The knight grinned, the look haunting on his features. “Sure, of course,” he replied, agreeing with her in sarcastic amusement. “Now step back, I’m opening this cell up and we’re taking you groundside.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere,” Harry snapped back. “Not with you, not with anywhere. I’ll fucking stay right here, thank you very much.”

The knight threw her an exasperated look, rolling his eyes as he pulled on a thin chain around his neck and the necklace pulled free from under the armour. There was a cell key on the end of the necklace and he took it off, pressing it into the steel lock of the door.

“I said _no_ ,” Harry commanded sharply, the building tension in the air bending and snapping at her words.

The knight stalled for a moment, his grey eyes flicking up. They glazed over briefly, looking at her in blank confusion. His black armour, originally appearing to be smooth unmarked metal, suddenly flashed over with red runes, covering his frame as they burned a bright sanguine.

The knight inhaled sharply as his eyes refocused, the red runes on his armour fading away just as quickly as they arrived.

“Compulsion,” the man hissed, teeth bared. “You’re a little witch, aren’t you?”

Harry gaped at the man, processing what had just happened with shock.

“That’s – that’s never happened to me before,” Harry said, stunned. It wasn’t completely true – sometimes Harry asked the things around the farm to do things for her, like asking the windows to please keep clean, the hearth to stay warm, the pigs to please not leave through the hole in the fence until the fence was repaired. It always worked, but it was more a hobby than actually _casting spells_.

“I’m – I’m sorry,” Harry stammered as the knight began to unlock the door with rough annoyance, pushing herself even harder into the corner of the room.

“Get over here,” he snarled, prowling into the cell and advancing on Harry.

Harry scrambled to the other side of the cell as he neared and reached out. She made a break for the open door, trying to dodge around him, and yelped when his cold chainmail arms wrapped around her waist.

“Fucking – argh – let me go!” Harry yelled, wriggling as he hauled her through the cell doors.

“Stop wriggling!” The man grunted in her ear as he hauled her off the ground and slung her over his shoulder. Harry wheezed, winded, and continued kicking and beating on the back of his armour.

“You fucking pig! Let me down, right now!” Harry screeched, suddenly choking when the knight’s gloved hand gripped her ass. “What the fuck – hey! _Hands off me, right now_!”

The man’s armour glowed again, throwing off the unwittingly spoken spell of compulsion, and the man snorted. “Never happened to you before, my ass,” he commented, unaffected by Harry’s wriggling from her position thrown over his shoulder. “My armour only reflects spells strong enough to get past my training.”

Harry whined, falling limp against the man as his metal armour dug into her ribs.

“You Death Eaters have no manners,” Harry berated, reaching around and yanking on a strand of his platinum blond hair. She squawked when he retaliated by slapping her bum.

“I have perfectly good manners, thank you,” the man sneered. “But I hardly need to use them when dealing with a lowly slave like you, now do I?”

Harry grimaced, annoyed. “That’s no reason to lose your manners. The mark of a properly bred man is his ability to remain a gentleman even in the most trying of situations,” Harry retorted. She’d heard Dumbledore say something like that a long time ago and it had stuck with her.

Harry squeaked as she was shifted and the knight set her on her feet in front of him, looking down at her with a raised blond brow.

“My governess used to say the same thing,” he said, looking down at her. Harry hadn’t realised exactly how tall he was compared to her, until she was standing directly in front of him. “I’ll try being a gentleman, if you can try being a lady for two seconds.”

 _Good luck with that_ , Harry thought to herself venomously, but she nodded instead.

“Draco Malfoy,” the knight said, holding out his hand. “Knight of the King’s guard.”

Harry eyed the offered appendage, wondering what he was playing at.

“Harry,” Harry answered, slipping her hand into the man’s instead of slapping it away, like she wanted to. He shook her hand slowly, eyes narrowed as he considered her.

“Just Harry?” Draco asked.

“Yup, don’t have or want a last name,” Harry replied, shrugging as their handshake ended and she withdrew her hand. “Peasant farm serf from the south, at your service.”

Draco’s face twisted into a look of disgust, as if he couldn’t believe he just shook hands with a _slave_.

“Yeah, keep those judgemental expressions to yourself, Mr. Gentleman,” Harry replied to the unspoken disgust, hands on her hips as she stared him down.

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes and pushing her along down the hall. “Keep your pace up, I’m supposed to drop you off with the servants – er, I mean, _staff_ , to get cleaned up,” Draco said, awkwardly tripping over his words as he looked down at her.

Harry frowned, wondering what he meant by _cleaned up_. She barely had time to think about it, though, as Draco was pushing her up four flights of stairs, out of the underground and onto a lovely landing two stories above ground level.

Harry blinked in surprise as they rounded the top of the stairs, a long well lit hallway bathed by the light of windows lining one side, the other side covered in gorgeous paintings. There were three doors down the hallway, all closed.

“Go on,” Draco encouraged, pointing at the door at the end of the hall. “They’ll be waiting for you.”

Harry turned, looking up at the tall blond man. “Well, I’d say it was nice meeting you, but it kind of wasn’t. So, I guess – have a nice life,” she told him, shrugging.

Draco’s eye twitched, but otherwise he remained stoic. “I could say the same for you. Now, _go.”_

Harry rolled her eyes and followed his command, aware he was watching her as she reached the door and pushed inside, without bothering to look back.

Harry walked into a massive sprawling bedroom and was immediately inundated by three maids, squawking as they pulled her to an enormous en-suite bath (it was almost bigger than her bathing pools in the forest), stripped her with professional speed, and pushed her into the bath. Harry accidentally swallowed some scented water as she gaped, spluttering as she was scrubbed head to foot with a strange sponge-like thing.

After Harry had every crook ( _every crook_ , she thought in mortification) scrubbed, she was pulled out of the bath and guided over a settee in the bedroom. Clinging the bathrobe to her in horror, Harry let herself get pushed down.

“What – what is that?” Harry asked, looking at a small metal contraption, holding a pottle of a thick liquid over a little tealight. They were using a small paddle to spread the contents of the pottle, a warm sticky liquid, on her legs.

“I am afraid this is going to hurt,” one of the maids said as she smoothed a strip of soft cotton fabric against the warm liquid she’d poured on Harry’s leg, the only thing any of the maids had said to this point.

“Hurt? What are you – _oh fuck!”_ Harry cried out as the woman ripped the cloth off and, with it, a strip of hair off her leg. “Are you going to keep doing that?” Harry panted, looking at the unaffected maid with wide eyes.

“We’re going to do that anywhere below your neck with hair,” the first maid replied.

Harry stared at the businesslike maid, appalled. “You don’t also mean – by below the neck, well – you _know,_ ” Harry stammered, pressing her knees together.

“Yes,” the maid confirmed. “Now lay back.”

Harry cringed back, realising she was in serious trouble.

* * *

After Harry had been scrubbed clean once more after the ‘waxing’ by the first maid, had her eyebrows and chopped hair attacked by the second maid, and her nails on her toes and hands done by the third, Harry felt like she had been put through a meat mincer and spat back out.

Of course, Harry had tried her hand at compulsing the maids the way she almost had Draco, but they brushed off her attempts with the first maid (apparently the only chatty one) snapping, “We’re part fae, that won’t work on us. Now stay still.”

She’d been allowed a five minute reprieve so that the lotions poured onto her skin could soak in, and then they were back at her, crushing her into an impossibly tight dress, yanking brutally hard on the ‘corset’ thing they insisted in putting her in. She was held down as the first maid did her makeup and yelped through teary eyes as the second maid braided her recently stylised hair. The third maid forced Harry into a pair of heeled shoes that made her feel like a fawn learning to walk for the first time, her legs wobbly and her heels unused to being three inches off the floor.

“Alright, I give up!” Harry shouted at last as the maids were putting on the finishing touches. “I don’t know what kind of sick bastard came up with this torture technique, but it worked! Please, mercy! I’ll tell you anything!”

The chatty maid eyed Harry with amusement, the first emotion Harry had seen on any of the three woman during the entire affair other than exasperation. “The women in the inner kingdom get waxed once a month and do the makeup and dressing every day,” she commented, crossing her arms.

“Sweet gods, the women in the inner kingdom are tougher than the King’s guard,” Harry muttered to herself, appalled that someone would _willingly_ put themselves through this over and over.

“We know,” the second maid retorted, astonishing Harry as she spoke.

“Ah, she speaks!” Harry crowed and she turned to the third maid. “Have anything to add?”

The older woman just gave Harry a stern look, took Harry’s hand in hers, and rapped the young woman’s knuckled with her hand.

“Ow, I guess not,” Harry said, yanking her hand back and rubbing her stinging knuckles.

Harry finally was pushed in front of a mirror and she _gaped_.

Harry has always been what Lavender refers to in a sickly-sweet tone as a “tom boy”. Harry had been put in charge of cutting her hair short just below her ears ever since Aunt Petunia had shorn it short and it had grown back the morning later. Harry bathed only twice a week, if that, and all her clothes were rough hand-me-downs from Dudley’s collection of discarded clothes. Harry had never plucked her eyebrows, or styled her hair, or worn a real dress, other than that ritual dress Dumbledore had given her.

But now, standing directly before her and staring back like a stranger, is Harry As A Girl. Her short hair has somehow been magically brushed out long, long enough to go down to her waist, and it’s been braided carefully into a loose, messy bun a with long ringlets tastefully left loose. The hair around the crown of her head had been braided around a dewy silver band, inlaid with precious pearls, and a thin necklace sits on her collarbone, the charm at the end a stylised Dark Mark – Voldemort’s symbol. Her freckles and imperfections have been carefully concealed by makeup, a thin line of khol lining around her eyes and her eyelashes charmed to be impossibly long, framing her green eyes. There’s just a touch of soft pink painted on her lips, enough to make them look full. The scar on Harry’s forehead hasn’t been covered, but rather has been accentuated; there’s a very thin, nearly unnoticeable line of white ink on the scar, outlining it on her forehead like an artistic bolt of lightening that was more a fashion decision than a literal scar.

And the _dress_ she’s been squished into. Harry lets her astonished eyes drop down to the ridiculously expensive material. Harry has always been scrawny, poorly fed and working long hours around the estate. She’s was not aware that she even had a figure, and yet somehow now she’s looking at it. The dress has decorative thin lace straps curving over her shoulders, the white delicate fabric of the dress dipping deep and the corset cupping her breasts, which has been accentuated and exaggerated into being a bust by the lacy fabric. The dress’ corset ends just above her waist, flowing into a fluid, soft white fabric and pooling gently at her feet. Harry’s painted toes peak out from the bottom of the dress, her heels making her a good three inches taller than she normally is.

Harry is flabbergasted to realise that she looks like a _princess_.

Harry turns to the admiring handmaids with wide eyes. “Who are you and how are you capable of performing magic?”

“Oh, Harry,” the first maid clucks, making Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. She’s not told the maids her name. “We’re just helping a bit with fate, you see.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, eyebrows knitting together.

The third maid began to laugh softly to herself as the first maid and the second shared a secret look.

“Let’s just say that the original maids will be waking up soon,” the first maid responded, winking at Harry. “And that, unlike the women in this kingdom, you won’t need to apply makeup every day or wax yourself on a monthly basis. Good luck, darling.”

With that, all three women literally _vanished_.

Harry gaped at the space they had been. _Who the hell are –_ Harry choked on her breath. Three women, talking about fate. A chatty first, a quiet second, a muted third.

 _No_ , Harry thought to herself, striking down the thought. _The three spinners of fate did not just give me a magical makeover_ , she thinks firmly. _That would be preposterous_.

However, when she turns back around to look at herself in the mirror, Harry wonders if the transformation could have been possible without a bit of magic and a touch of fate.

* * *

As warned, the normal handmaids awoke five minutes after the three conspiring women left, stumbling into the massive room as Harry sat on the plush bed, stunned by the hour’s events.

The maids, realising that they could either pretend to continue on the day as if nothing happened or be punished for sleeping on the job, decided to go for the first option and bustled Harry out of the room. They had little patience for Harry’s stumbling in her heels, fluttering around her as they pushed her down the stairs, across the landing, and toward a large set of doors.

“He will be waiting for you in there,” one of the maids said. Harry barely processed their words, instead feeling overwhelmed and confused. The large French doors of the room were pushed open by the two doormen standing on either side and Harry was unceremoniously pushed into the room.

Harry stumbled in her shoes, thankfully not tripping over her dress, and froze as an _entire ballroom_ of Death Eaters turned to look at her. There were easily fifty of them, knights all in black armour and varying helmets of significantly different designs, but all keeping along the design theme of _creepy._

Harry felt very much like the mouse in the serpent’s den.

Deciding that acting like prey would only get her treated like prey, Harry thought to herself, _Just pretend this isn’t you, you’re a freaking warrior princess and you’re here to kick butt_. _This might be a serpent den, but I’m a goddamn lioness._ The internal pep talk worked and Harry threw her shoulders back, raised her jaw, and glided through the ballroom to the dais at the front of the room as best as she could in her heels.

A man sat indolently in a massive golden throne at the front of the room, on a stage a good metre above the rest of the ballroom, and he watched her with a predatory, bored expression as she neared.

Harry stopped a few metres in front of the dais, a massive stain glass window built into the wall behind the throne casting eerie multicolour shadows onto the stage.

The man in front of her was devastatingly handsome. He was clearly tall, despite sitting sprawled in his golden throne, and his high cheekbones and sharp features spoke of years of aristocratic breeding. His dark black hair was styled roguishly and his unnerving red eyes peered down at her with bored dismissal.

He was perhaps forty years of age and yet he looked timeless, a warlord sitting in the throne in the middle of the kingdom, watching Harry with alien, inhuman eyes.

“You called for me?” Harry prompted impatiently as Voldemort’s gaze weighed her down, her fingers twitching by her side as she raised an imperious eyebrow at Lord Voldemort.

A quiet groan could be heard to Harry’s left and she spied blond hair in her peripheral vision. She had to suppress the instinct to throw Draco a smirk. Harry also had to suppress the instinct to twitch at the unsettling realisation that her Death Eater (well, not _her_ one, but the one that had mistaken her for nymph and kissed her all those years ago) was surely in this room as well. But Harry felt a little better at the thought that he would not recognise her, as she was now nearly five years older than when they first met and had just experienced the makeover from hell.

Harry rose her chin imperiously and stared at Voldemort with as stern of an expression she can manage. It is a look she’s perfected over time, using it to successfully barter at the village markets since she turned ten.

Voldemort did not speak. He rose a hand, his elbow resting on one of the armrests of his massive throne, and he stared down at her with an indescribable expressed as he tilted his head and rested his temple against his fingers _. If anything_ , Harry thought to herself irritably _, he looked amused_.

Just then, a large snake curled around the edge of the chair and hissed at her, a long tongue poking out into the air and tasting Harry’s scent.

“Nagini!” Harry said, startled, as she looked at the snake. She finds herself strangely relieved the snake is alright.

At this, Voldemort sat up and looked at Harry as if she were the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

“How do you know my snake’s name?” Voldemort practically hissed, his baritone voice dangerous.

Harry blushed, feeling flatfooted. _Remember, warrior princess_ , she thought to herself as she straightened.

“Nagini told me,” Harry replied simply.

“Nagini… _Told you_ ,” Voldemort repeated, a sceptical brow rising as he looked her up and down with a weighted stare.

“Yes, _Nagini told me_ ,” Harry repeated Voldemort repeating her, extremely annoyed now. What was the point of _summoning her_ if he wasn’t even going to ask her questions and, when he did, just repeat her answers like a childish game of echo?

‘Did you tell her your name, my darling?’ Voldemort said and Harry stifled a gasp. She understood the words, but they were sibilant and hissing, a strange accent lilting the language.

‘Of course I did, she just said I did,’ Nagini replied haughtily.

Harry stared between the two, at a bemused Voldemort looking at his pet snake, who had wound her way up his throne to stare at him petulantly.

It was strange – the words, when they came from Nagini’s mouth, sounded like English. It was so fluid, _natural_ , that Harry hadn’t even been aware she was speaking a different language. But… Coming from _Voldemort’s_ mouth, the language took on a completely different tone.

Harry felt a shudder roll up her spine, goose bumps covering her flesh. She’s not sure what this feeling is, but it lights a fire in her stomach and her breath is stolen from her lungs. She finds herself subconsciously leaning forward and she corrects herself before Voldemort can notice.

‘Are you telling me that this tarted up little servant girl in front of me can speak Parseltongue?’ Voldemort hissed to his familiar, clearly teasing his snake.

‘Yes, Tom,’ Nagini replied sharply. ‘Even a bit better than you can, _actually_.’

Voldemort’s eyes widened briefly, a momentary lapse of shock as his eyes flickered to Harry’s extremely annoyed expression ( _tarted up little servant girl_ , Harry fumed to herself), before the stony mask slammed into place. Voldemort rose swiftly off his throne and snapped, “Get out!”

Harry inhaled in surprise at his cold tone and turned to leave.

“Not _you_ ,” Voldemort said, snarling at Harry.

Harry froze in place as Voldemort’s knights began to leave the space, moving swiftly to empty the ball room. Draco didn’t look at Harry as he left, even as her eyes sought after him, wondering what was going to happen now. At the back of the room, five knights in full regalia remained and Harry eyed them curiously.

‘Speak to me, little girl, prove to me that you can speak my tongue,’ Voldemort snarled in Parseltongue.

Harry had to really concentrate on English for a moment ( _the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog_ ) before replying flatly, “No.”

Voldemort’s eyes flashed the colour of a burning sunset, a jarring shade from his already terrifying maroon irises, and he began to prowl down the dais.

“So, you can speak Parseltongue,” Voldemort commented breezily, circling Harry as if she were a fascinating specimen. Even in her tall heels, Voldemort had a good six inches of height on her. “Very interesting.”

Harry refused to turn with him, instead staring straight ahead at Nagini, who looked like she would roll her eyes if she had the ability to do so. Somehow, Nagini’s dismissive nature of Voldemort’s theatrics grounded Harry, not letting herself get swept away in the fear of the warlord circling her.

“And here I was thinking that I was just some _tarted up little servant girl_ ,” Harry snapped, glaring at Voldemort as he came into sight.

And then Voldemort was suddenly in Harry’s space, making her take an alarmed step back. And yet she couldn’t, because his hands were gripping her tightly around her waist and holding her in place.

Harry heard the clinking of metal behind her, as if one of the knights had moved.

Voldemort’s eyes flickered to the back of the room and a dark grin stole across his expression. “I see one of my Horcruxes has taken a liking to you.”

Harry’s eyebrows knitted together at the word, unfamiliar with it. _Horcrux_. Harry had never heard it before.

Voldemort pressed forward and then Harry’s focus was back on him, staring up at him with wide eyes as he leant closer and she shifted back in his hold. The strong, large hands around her waist were the only thing keeping her from toppling over as she tilted back, eyes blown wide as Voldemort pressed his face into her space. His eyes flickered to the white painted scar on her forehead, his pupils dilating as they turned back down to her green eyes.

“I see it now,” Voldemort breathed against her face. “The princess in you. My, my, _Hellebore_ , I have been looking for you for a very, _very_ long time. I just didn’t imagine you’d come walking into my own ballroom, serving yourself up for me on a platter.”

Harry blinked in surprise at Voldemort’s words, mouth falling open in confusion.

“My name isn’t _Hellebore_ ,” Harry said in disgust, feeling like there were a _lot_ of things she should be protesting right now but, for some reason, that was the only coming out of her lips. “And why would you be looking for me?”

The molten lava of Voldemort’s irises swirled hypnotically, a feeling of suffocation burning a hole in Harry’s chest as her breathing shallowed, trapped in Voldemort’s predator gaze.

“Oh, darling,” Voldemort whispered, a soft laugh pressing pass his lips, “You have no idea who you are, do you?”

“I’m Harry,” Harry sighed, annoyed with having to tell people this. Harry feels like a lot of people have questioned her existence recently and it is really getting on her nerves. “I’m a serf from the southern kingdom. You know, the one you razed to the ground fifteen years ago.”

Voldemort’s smirk grew darkly amused. “Oh, I am perfectly knowledgeable about the Potter Kingdom. I find myself surprised, however, that you _aren’t_ , being that you are Hellebore Potter.”

Voldemort leant even closer to her and Harry leant back equally in response. She lost her balance as she did so as she had forgotten she was awkwardly perched in her stilettos and she squeaked. Harry’s fingers instinctively reached out and buried in the lapels of Voldemort’s fitted coat, the soft fabric crushing under her fingers as she was practically bent in half, held up entirely by her white-knuckled grip in the man’s coat and the strong arms that encircled her waist as he crushed himself up against her.

“Hellebore Potter is a _myth_ ,” Harry replied breathlessly, staring up at Voldemort as her heartbeat exploded in her chest, the rhythm faster than a frightened rabbit.

“Hellebore Potter is a _prophecy_ ,” Voldemort corrected, gaze flicking down to her lips. “ _Serf Harry_ is the myth.”

“What the hell kind of name is _Hellebore_ anyway?” Harry asked, feeling distant and numb, her face just a few centimetres from Voldemort’s lips. Something inside of her was pulling her closer, making her mind feel dazed and enchanted.

“It’s a toxic, beautiful, hardy little flower, just like her mother,” Voldemort breathed, appearing just as affected by the buzzing between them as Harry, his jaw drawing close to Harry’s and his crooning words brushing his lips against Harry’s painted mouth. “After the downfall of the Potter Kingdom, I made the black hellebore my national flower.”

Harry can’t take it anymore. She’s not sure what _exactly_ it is that she can’t take, but there’s static in her ears and her heart won’t stop racing and those lips against hers are just _perfect_ so she leans in and then she’s being kissed within an inch of her life, that sharp mouth hovering over hers crashing into her. Harry’s fingers delve into those black locks as she’s crushed against Voldemort’s chest with one elbow hooked tight around her waist, his broad hand grounding at her lower back, and another hand delving into the long hair at the nape of her neck.

Harry released a properly inhuman whine as a tongue slips into her mouth and runs along the roof of her mouth, her eyes drifting closed and then crossing behind closed lids. Harry traces her fingers into the hair she’s gripping, tugging gently and savouring the answering growl that rumbles into her chest.

It can’t be more than ten seconds but it feels like an entire lifetime, Harry bent over in the ballroom of the Riddle Castle as she moans into _Lord Voldemort’s mouth_ , and then Harry’s eyes snap open, she yanks her hands out of his hair to push against his chest, and she inhales sharply to bark out, “ _Stop!”_

Like the compulsion spell from before, Voldemort freezes against her lips and his eyes peer down at her, glazed and dull. Harry had really felt it this time, the magic leaving her on her command, her desperate word bending reality to her will. It had rushed out of her with more strength than anything Harry has ever said, the panic of the situation building until she simply _snapped._ The world is suddenly so very quiet, Harry’s magic thrumming at her fingertips, her heartbeat slowing, her breath calm.

Harry isn’t sure what is happening to her, why she feels like she wants to just fall apart in Voldemort’s arms, why she wants him to pick her up and take her away. She doesn’t understand why he’s calling her Hellebore Potter, why he’s telling her that he’s been looking for her. Why she feels this way when he says that _stupid_ name. He has mistaken Harry, little Serf Harry, for someone that she’s not and it makes her feel like her heart is crushing inside her chest.

Harry whispers “ _stop”_ once more, making sure the spell has taken, and she untangles herself from Voldemort’s frozen form. The man doesn’t look to her, appears to be frozen in time. Harry turns on her heel, suddenly remembering she had an audience, and she blushed at the thought of them watching her kiss _Lord Voldemort_. Like Voldemort, they were frozen and stopped in time. Harry stepped forward slowly, hoping her movement wouldn’t break the spell, and she breathed softly in relief as it didn’t.

Harry walked through dust motes trapped mid-float in the air, amazed as she walked through the beams of light filtering through the massive cathedral windows of the ballroom. It felt as if she were walking faster than light, as if she could almost see the little waving particles passing through the air.

Harry opened the door to the ballroom and gasped at the sight of people frozen where they stood. She wandered down the hall, using the long windows of the passageways to guide her down and out of the castle. The silence engulfed her, overwhelmed her.

The entire castle courtyard was frozen as well. Harry felt panic welling in her chest. What if she had caused another faerie circle? What if her spoken words to stop made _the entire world_ into a faerie circle, had halted life to a stop, forcing her to walk through reality as nothing around her moved? Would it be like this _forever?_

Harry felt overwhelming panic begin to take her over and she lifted her skirt, kicked off her heels, and she raced down the steps of the castle courtyard into the sprawling city below as fast as she could manage. Harry passed through the streets and she didn’t stop running once, an entire world of people trapped by her spell, tears falling down her face as she ran away from Voldemort and his reverent words spoken for Hellebore Potter.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah, Harry's a "tom boy" (cue poorly executed slow wink) 
> 
> I've written this out and am slowly beta-ing myself, so please do pardon any mistakes I've made and would appreciate a comment if you noticed any inconsistencies. I plan on posting a chapter each Friday/Saturday until complete :)
> 
> Also, what do you think of these mood-boards? I've kind of gone crazy with them (I have made like seven lol) and if you think they're not too cheesy, I'll keep adding them to chapters <3


	3. Chapter 3

Harry ran. She ran for as far as her feet could take her, breaking through the outer villages surrounding the City of Gaunt, ran for hours until her feet were swollen with bruises and her beautiful dress hems were ruined with mud. Harry finally gave up once she broke through the edge of the Forbidden Forest on the outskirts of the city’s domain, panting and heart racing. Harry crashed into the forest and screamed at the sight of hummingbirds frozen mid-flight, pulling the pearl crown out of her hair and smashing it to the ground with frustration. She dropped to the ground, burying her face in her hands as she burst into tears.

“ _Please, go back to normal,”_ Harry cried. “ _Don’t leave me here alone.”_

The world jittered for a moment, as if taking stock of itself, and then it churned back into motion.

After hours and hours of pure silence, of stillness beyond comprehension, Harry’s tears turned happy. Harry heard the soft wind pick back up, the rustling of leaves sweeter than the sound of chimes, insects chirping and the hummingbird continuing in its flight as if it had never been disturbed.

Harry began to laugh in wonder, standing shakily and walking deeper into the forest. She relished the sound of a babbling creek, danced in a field of grass as a doe and her fawn looked on, watched the canopy sway above her with new appreciation.

Once the hysteria wracking Harry’s frame had calmed, she took stock of herself. She was deep in the Forbidden Forest, a magical forest that Voldemort dared never to touch. The combined power of all the creatures within the Forbidden Forest was stronger than even his haunted army. Harry followed a small beaten path as she walked further into the woods. The canopy grew thicker here, the sunlight darkening despite being midday, and Harry let the path guide her deeper into the dangerous territory.

Harry was exhausted. She is unsure how much time has passed in the real world since she went missing at Samhain, and she’s unsure how much time has passed for her physically. It feels like two weeks, but she can’t be sure. Judging by the sunny day but cold ground on her bare feet, Harry would guess that she has been gone for months, the winter starting to slip into spring.

Harry let her thoughts wander as she walked through the forest, absentmindedly aware of her ruined gown catching on the shrubs and tearing. Nagini had been so insistent that they not be caught, when the Death Eater chased them down. Had been frightened of her master. Her master being, of course, Lord Voldemort.

_He will just put us right back where we started! We have to keep running!_

Harry stopped still, considering Nagini’s plea. Nagini had said that someone, her master, had put her in the cottage to keep her safe. Had put _Harry_ in the hunting cabin to keep her safe. All within a faerie circle, to make sure they never aged or got hurt.

Harry had been kidnapped during Samhain, during the middle of the Sacrificial Ritual, turning it into the Bonding Ritual.

 _Like the Old Ones,_ Harry’s mind treacherously whispered.

In the same way that Lily Potter had been Fated to James Potter. The female dynasty in the Potter Kingdom had always been part fae, their soulmates brought to them by their deities, the Three Spinning Fates and the Mother Goddess.

If Harry was really Hellebore Potter, somehow against all odds, then that meant that _Voldemort_ was her soulmate, sent to her by the Fates.

But – but that then meant it _had_ to have been Voldemort who had rescued her during Samhain from that horrible creature. But Harry was so sure that it had been that Black Knight, the one that she had met all those years ago. His voice against her ear and that familiar feel of his war steed beneath her.

Harry gripped a nearby tree, a migraine blooming. _Nothing was making any sense!_

Everything was fading around the edges, Harry so exhausted from running and she found herself completely confused and reality around her distorting. She was so very cold, her limbs trembling, and she was _hungry_. Unlike the walk through the faerie circle, Harry couldn’t keep walking for days without food or water or sleep. Out here, she was human.

Something moved out of the corner of Harry’s eye and she twitched, spinning around to face the movement. Harry’s eyes widened as a nymph _,_ of all things looked at her, the thing wearing a floral veil covering its naked form. Despite the opaque fabric hiding its eyes, Harry could feel the weight of the nymph’s stare on her.

 _What better way to confirm if I’m Hellebore Potter than test my ‘fae’ blood and approach a nymph_ , Harry thought to herself, a touch hysterically. Approaching the fae could go precisely two ways: one, the nymph would kill her, or two, the nymph would speak to her and confirm her identity as Hellebore. Either option seemed equally terrible, so Harry decided to throw caution to the wind.

“Hello,” Harry said softly, not daring to step closer to the creature.

The nymph tilted her head at Harry, her features outlined by the veil on her face, and she waved _come here_ with a pale hand. She then turned, slipping through the forest with liquid grace.

Harry followed the nymph quickly, trying to keep pace with the being. It stopped every so often, making sure Harry saw her, and then she continued on deeper into the forest.

Harry wasn’t sure what this meant – the nymph hadn’t attacked her nor had it spoken. Instead, Harry found herself chasing a fae deep into a treacherous forest, wondering how her life had gotten so turned around.

At last, the nymph led Harry to a pool of water and the creature slipped in. Harry sighed in relief at the sight of the water, kneeling at the small rocky pool surrounded by lush green growth, and she cupped her hands to bring water to her lips. After drinking her fill, Harry sat back and watched the nymph, only a few dozen metres away, peak its head out of the water and watch Harry right back.

“My name is Harry, I think,” Harry said after a while.

The nymph didn’t reply, but her head tilted back as if looking at someone above Harry.

Harry turned quickly and gasped at the sight of an old, gnarled woman standing behind her.

“Hello, Harry-I-Think,” the old woman greeted, grinning a sly smile.

“Hello,” Harry breathed.

“I am Mother,” the old woman said.

Harry tripped over herself to turn around, her knees bent under her as she pressed her palms and lips to the ground, prostrating herself in front of the Goddess.

“There’s no need for that, little one,” Mother said, laughing. “Come now, child, walk with me.”

Harry shakily rose from the ground and trembled when the old woman slotted her arm into Harry’s as if she were a sweet grandmother taking her grandchild on a stroll. A deep, overwhelming calm settled on Harry as the old woman guided her through the forest.

“You have been hidden for a very long time, little one,” Mother said softly, her old feet never wavering as they walked through brambles and underbrush. “I believe Dumbledore may be at fault for that. He kept you with your relatives for a very long time under the power of a blood ritual, designed to keep you hidden from us. The old man never really did like the idea of Fates,” Mother sighed, patting her arm.

Harry stared at Mother, the goddess astonishing. At any given time, she was an adoring grandmother, heralding winter at the end of a lush season. She was a child and full of joy, spring eternal. She was a young woman at the cusp of life, summer blooming. A matriarch in her prime, dawning autumn.

“I am sorry that we had to put you in the path of Tom Riddle,” Mother continued as she carried on the leisurely stroll.

“Tom Riddle?” Harry questioned, feeling thrown. She didn’t know the name.

“Or, as he goes by now, Lord Voldemort,” Mother laughed, as if the name amused her. “ _Flight of Death_ , indeed.”

Harry stopped suddenly, the rosy glow of the meeting dimming. “Lord Voldemort?” Harry questioned, worrying her bottom lip.

“Let me show you something, Harry,” Mother said. At Harry’s nod, they stepped forward and suddenly they were far, far away from the Forbidden Forest.

Harry gasped as she was surrounded by full spring in the middle of an overgrown forest, the woods alike her own homeland. It was lush and full of flowers, the smell heady and soft.

“This is your home,” Mother said sadly, walking Harry down a small trail through a forest carpeted by blooming daisies. “Many years ago, I met your mother.”

“You knew my mother?” Harry asked in surprise.

“Oh, I did,” Mother replied softly. “She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. She had the most incredible red hair; it burned brighter than a forest fire. She was completely in love with you and prayed to me about you every day.”

Harry felt tears gather in her eyes. She’s not sure if they’re tears of sadness or happiness, but they feel cathartic all the same.

Mother led Harry to a set of ruins deep within the enchanted spring forest. Harry gaped in amazement at the beautiful structure, now blown out and exposed to nature, positively teeming with life. It was a massive castle, filled with open-air stairwells and chirping birds. Harry slipped her hand out of Mother’s arm, the feeling of _recognition_ taking her over.

Harry walked up the stone entrance to the entrance of the castle, trees growing through the cobblestones and flowers blooming on their branches, the scent magical. She pressed her fingers against the doorway and slipped inside. There was a cathedral of life inside, a small pond holding koi fish in the entry hall, ivy growing through the large spiral staircase leading up into the ruins above. Harry pressed her fingers to the stone balustrade of the staircase, the chipped marble bringing a feeling of _déjà vu_ that slipped between her fingers before she could explore the memory. Harry continued her exploration through the castle, walking through the ruined halls of peeling blue paint and the soft glow of the afternoon sun warming her bare feet.

Harry paused at a doorway, pressing her fingers against the notches on the door. They come up to her waist, little lines demarcating the height of a child.

“Lily enjoyed everything about being a mother,” Mother said from behind Harry.

Harry turned to Mother with tears overspilling, trailing down her cheeks.

“ _I remember,”_ Harry breathed.

Harry remembers being very small, not even five. She is running through the castle, the ceiling so high from her tiny perspective. She remembers her father chasing after her with tickling fingers, her mother picking flowers in the vast gardens and smiling at her with pure love. Harry remembers following her mother around as she holds her hand, hiding in her mother’s flowing dress.

Harry remembers touching the halfmoon crescent scar above her mother’s brow, a mother and child pressing foreheads as they lean against one another and share an ancient secret.

Harry walks through the hallway and her memories superimpose over the castle; she is seeing the place this used to be, she can feel the plush rugs and see the tapestries on the walls. She can hear the sound of women laughing, can taste the sweet scent of cakes baking in the kitchens, feels the vibrations a bell tolling through the building.

The memories change to something darker. The superimposed image fades from bright and glowing to shadowed, dark – _grey_.

Harry remembers her mother crying in the nursery. She remembers her father growing solemn and not wanting to play anymore. Harry remembers her mother covering Harry’s scar with paint, pressing a grey-tipped thumb against Harry’s forehead as her mother stares at her with sad, expressive green eyes. She remembers the sound of men breaking into the castle, of her mother screaming, of an unfamiliar man stealing Harry away and escaping through a secret passage in the wall. Harry remembers tears, of being left on a doorstep of a sneering woman. Harry _remembers_.

Harry turns on her heel and looks at Mother.

“Why?” Harry asks, voice cracking. The family she has always dreamt of _had existed_ and yet they were gone. In an instant, Harry had gotten what she had always wanted and then _lost it_. “Why me? Why did the Fates want _me?_ ”

Mother sighed, walking forward to link arms with Harry once more and patting her arm soothingly.

“It is not clear why the old women of time do what they do, not even always to myself,” Mother said. “Lord Voldemort was an unstoppable force. You were born and needed a bonded love, as all fae do. The Fates thought to bring you together. An Oracle announced their intention when you were just a babe. The miserable Oracle mishandled the matter and, for that, your prophecy was her first and last. After the prophecy was spoken, that a child who would be Voldemort’s equal was to be born… Well, Tom Riddle did not take it well, is all I can say. I imagine that things would have turned out differently, if Dumbledore had not kept you hidden. But the Fates decide life, whether or not we agree, and this is the path they have chosen for you.”

“But I don’t understand,” Harry despaired as she turned to Mother. “Voldemort is not my bonded. That was the dark knight, the one I kissed.”

Mother laughed, patting Harry on the cheek. “I know it is frustrating, child. Let me try to explain and please don’t interrupt, the story is as convoluted as it is sad. The inner group of the King’s Knights, the most trusted of his guard, are called the Horcruxes. Voldemort only trusts the Horcruxes because they _are him_.”

At Harry’s astonished expression, Mother continued. “Tom Riddle was engaged to be married at the young age of sixteen to his counterpart, Nagini, a princess of the far east. Circumstances prevented their marriage from being validated on the eve they were to be wed, however they remained loyal friends. Tom Riddle then gained his kingdom from his father when he killed his entire royal family, at the tender age of seventeen. The two conspired to do the same to Nagini’s parents and she rose alongside him. Together, Tom and Nagini ruled their kingdoms as allies. They were fearsome warriors. But, as they aged, they realised the world would not forever be their oyster. Tom Riddle began conferring with a daemon, a horrible creature in its own right.

“Tom Riddle’s kingdom was steeped in black magic, has been since its inception. It was not uncommon to deal with the devil, as one might say, however this was the strongest, most fearsome demon yet summoned. In exchange for his soul, Tom Riddle bargained eternal life for himself and Nagini, fated to rule their lands until the ends of time. In a ritual most horrible, something I cannot speak of myself, King Riddle promised his eternal soul to the demon in exchange for a life as long as the humans existed.” Mother trailed off then, mouth pursed. Harry remained silent, knowing there was much more yet to be told.

Sighing, the Mother Goddess continued, “King Riddle reined for over sixty years unchallenged in his own kingdom, but his thirst grew untenable. He tore down kingdoms around him, unable to fill the void left from the daemon’s removal of his soul. He grew prouder, more dangerous, unstoppable.

“When the Oracle reported that Lord Voldemort had a Fated equal, he flew into a rage. He decided to kill the newborn who was fated to be his equal, his great love. It took him nearly four years to find you, you see.

“Unfortunately for Tom Riddle, when the demon that owned his soul discovered that it belonged to a fae princes, not itself, it became furious, thinking the cursed King had bargained what was not his to bargain. As the fated soul bond had not been completed, the demon still technically owned King Riddle’s soul and it was bound to uphold his deal – but the moment you bond with Tom Riddle, you would belong to him as much as he would belong to you. In order to prevent this from happening, the demon cursed Tom Riddle into seven pieces, his soul split into seven different characteristics of himself and into seven different beings. He was cursed to a half-life. Cursed into a monster that no one, not even a Fated Soulmate, could love.”

Harry could barely think, the horribleness of the story overwhelming. “Why – why would Tom Riddle want to kill me?” Harry asked, eyes wide. “Why would he spit on the Fated match? Aren’t they supposed to be treasured, to empower a being to be _stronger_?”

“Tom was always a fierce thing,” Mother sighed sadly. “He thought himself immortal, untouchable. But he did not account for the implausibility that he would be Fated to a fae princess, her lightening bolt scar binding him in life and death. He feared his deal with the demon would be demolished upon her coming of age, when fate would eventually push the princess and king together. And when he came after her, to tear her kingdom down and turn her to ash, because _Lord Voldemort can have no equal_ , she vanished. He has been hunting her ever since, looking to destroy the inevitable bonding of their souls. His kingdom, which has swollen in now eighty years of his rein, grew exponentially in his search.”

Harry stared at Mother uncomprehendingly. “The… The knight that I kissed, all those years ago – he _is_ Voldemort?” Harry asked, horrified.

“Yes, my darling,” Mother soothed, “They go by names, for they were inanimate objects before the demon turned them into a person and slotted a seventh of a soul in them. The one you know is the Tome. There is the Pendant, the Stone, the Chalice, the Crown, the Serpent, and Voldemort himself. These seven creatures compose the soul of Tom Riddle, whose original body has been lost to time. The snake was a difficult one, because it had already been a woman cursed into a snake by an old warlock. It does not take the physical form of Tom Riddle as the other do, but it holds a soul shard within it. The woman, Nagini, has been Tom Riddle’s familiar for a very long time. She is his closet companion.”

After a few moments of deliberation, Harry stated, “I am fated to a bunch of inanimate objects,” unsure how to process it all. 

“Oh, no, my dear,” Mother laughed, “They are very much people now and have served as part of Tom Riddle’s inner guard for nearly twenty years. He may look young, but Tom Riddle has already lived two lifetimes.”

“How can I be fated to seven people?” Harry asked, her migraine returning.

“You can’t,” Mother answered simply. “If you accept him, as he is, the fae magic will unbind the demon magic. He will be whole again, as your magic commands, and he will be _yours_.”

Something in Mother’s words made a wistful exhale slip out of Harry’s lips, agreeing wholeheartedly. _Mine soul._

Harry blanched at the sudden thought, sending an apologetic grimace to Mother.

“Oh, don’t be ashamed, child,” Mother chuckled, patting Harry’s hand as she gave Harry a cheeky wink. “I may be the mother, but I am also the woman. I understand completely.”

Harry blushed at her words. “But – how will I possibly get closer to him again without him killing me on sight? He seemed to be caught up in the bonding magic when we met, but I doubt he’ll fall for that again.”

“Trust in yourself, Harry,” Mother replied sternly, “And trust in the Fates. It will all work out, child. I know it will.”

“Mother,” Harry then said suddenly, before the goddess disappeared. “Who was that monster that interrupted the Ritual Sacrifice at Samhain?”

Mother turned heavy, worried eyes on Harry, expression darkening as she frowned deeply. Harry felt a jolt of fear through her. If a monster gave Mother concern, then Harry couldn’t imagine how impossibly terrifying it was. After all, a monster like Voldemort was a mere amusement to Mother.

“It is a great unbalance to have one soul split into seven,” Mother said, gaze distant as she spoke. “The balance was shaken when the demon shattered Tom. Death was very angry already at Tom for making the deal with the devil for everlasting life; the soul splitting was really just spitting in his face, the straw that broke the camel’s back. A rift grew, between the Spirit World and the Living World, an unnatural tear in the natural flow of life. From within this tear, the _Hunger_ is born.”

“The Hunger?” Harry asked, confused.

“It is much alike a Dementor in appearance,” Mother mused, “And yet its hunger is ravenous, a hundred-fold the need of a Dementor. It consumes everything in its path: food, resources, water, human will. And, eventually, the humans themselves. As it eats, it grows stronger.”

“The plagues,” Harry said, horrified. “The village that _ate_ itself.”

“The Hunger,” Mother confirmed, eyes sad. “The Hunger has been growing for a long time, gaining strength and power. The marriage of your own mother and father was powerful magic, the consummation of a soul bond. It brought power into the land, filling it with such vibrance. But with the death of the fated leaders as six kingdoms fell to Voldemort and the birth of Hunger, life has withered. The desertification of magic spreads from within the Riddle Kingdom. As your own soul bond goes unconsummated, and the natural leylines of the land are running dry, the withering exponentially grows. The Hunger has eaten much of the world’s natural magic and has turned to life to consume it whole.”

As she spoke, Mother waved her hand through the air and a vision erupted in the sky. Harry watched the world blossom into life around the wedding of a handsome couple, a redheaded woman resting her forehead against her fated beloved. Fairies flew through the world, spreading life and joy, and rivers of magic spread from the source of the couple like a spring of eternal life.

An ominous dark smog began to emerge, withering life and turning it black and brittle. A war steed heralded the smog through the land, carrying upon its back the fourth horseman of the apocalypse, the armoured knight charging with a battle cry as he brandished a great obsidian sword. He slashed down as he rode by the wedded couple and he cut through them as if they were mere mist, their image wavering and dissipating like a mirage.

The war steed and her mounted knight continued, the land dying as he consumed all that there was as far as the eye could see.

Upon the curtails of death, the Riddle Empire grew.

“Harry,” Mother said, turning to her young charge with the solemnity of tasking Harry with a great challenge. “You are going to awaken now, but it is very important you do not forget anything we have discussed. You need to find a way to bend your bonded to your will, to acknowledge you for who you are. He will try to control you but you _must_ take a stand. You are his Fated Equal, Harry. Do not forget that.”

Harry opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly she found herself very tired, as if she could not think another thought. Harry slipped down to the ground, into the soft field of daisies, and she fell asleep to the sight of Mother’s dotting smile.

* * *

Harry awoke with a jolt in front of the small rock pool in the heart of the Forbidden Forest. It was very dark and she realised night whilst she slept, the full moon has risen and filtered through the dense canopy, casting the rocky pools with a shallow, distorting light.

The nymph had not moved from across the water pool, watching over Harry like a vigil. Harry sat up and looked at the nymph with wide eyes. Harry looked down warily at the pond water, recalling that she had consumed it before her vision of the Mother. Harry was surprised to see the water glowed with soft blue light. Deep within, small phosphorous creatures swished through the pond. Harry could see the light of smaller rockpools glowing around her and dotted through the forest, the ponds alight with magic.

Harry nodded at the nymph, who tilted her head at Harry with a considering look. The nymph drew near Harry, slowly wading through the water in her approach. Harry watched with wide eyes as the nymph slowed in front of her. It slowly drew off its veil and Harry inhaled softly through her nose at the sight.

The nymph was not exactly pretty and yet it was _beautiful_. Her features were very different to a human, with impossibly large eyes that were pure black from edge to edge. Her full, pink lips were parted, revealing inhumanly sharp teeth. Pointed ears poked through the fountain of white hair wetly plastered to her head, spilling down her shoulders and into the water.

The nymph continued her approach and she rose up from the bank of the pond, as bare as a newly born child and just as lacking in shyness. She placed her veil over Harry’s head, rearranging the bouquet wreath around Harry’s hair carefully and gently positioning the long veil until it pooled around Harry’s knees. The nymph patted Harry’s cheek softly and then she turned and leapt catlike into the water, dipping into the rocky pool and disappearing without so much as a ripple, as if vanishing into a portal for a faerie circle.

Harry watched the nymph disappear with amazement, touching the veil fabric wondrously. Somehow, Harry felt well rested after her vision. Her mouth was no longer parched and her body was miraculously not sore after running for hours and laying on the mossy stones for what must have been half a day. Harry felt rather rejuvenated. And yet she was hungry, so very hungry.

Harry rose to her feet, remembering she was still barefoot but surprised to note that her feet no longer hurt. It seemed that the water – in combination with her long rest – had healed her cuts and bruises. Harry followed a small doe-path through the forest, picking small berries she recognised as edible from years of foraging and she sucked on the wild leaves of mint growing through the forest. The great woods created its own ecosystem; the chilly winter season sliding into spring was held off by warm rockpools and a gentle humidity supported the forest’s teaming life.

Harry followed the path further until the trees thinned and the temperatures cooled. The sun was beginning to rise in the horizon, heralding a new day. As the sun cracked the skyline and began to rise, Harry’s breath misting out softly, Harry found a lake of water. Unlike the shallow glowing rock pools of the magical sanctuary inside the forest, this was a simple lake of water, crystal clear. Leaving her clothes on, as well as her nymph headdress on to protect her, and she swam out into the cold waters. Harry carefully scrubbed at the stained dress, hoping the cold water wouldn’t ruin the fabric.

The water was bitter but rejuvenating and Harry scrubbed at her face and limbs. The lake went deep in the middle and Harry floated, breathing softly as she relaxed. Despite the chilly temperatures, Harry barely felt the cold – she’s not sure if perhaps her nerves have been numbed, or if the nymph waters she drank had provided her some protection, but either way Harry is enjoying not being cold for once.

A shifting rustling out at the edge of the lake had Harry flailing, righting herself from her floating position so that she could paddle, head dipping in the water as she sunk low.

At the edge of the lake was a beautiful doe, cocking her head curiously as she watched Harry from a distance. Harry smiled at the beautiful thing, watching the doe carefully step around the edge of the rocky beach and dip her head in to drink.

Just as the doe finished drinking, she shot her head up and looked deep into the forest, body frozen. Harry inhaled sharply – there was someone there. Before Harry could begin to swim to the other shore, a young woman stumbled out of the tree line and onto the beach. The startled doe dashed off, leaping down the beach and disappearing into the forest line.

The woman was young, perhaps only a few years older than Harry, and she was the strangest person that Harry had ever seen. She looked like she was from one of the far eastern kingdoms; she had khol rimmed eyes with a red dot under each eye on her cheekbones, full red painted lips, and her long black hair was piled messily into two buns on either side of her head. She was _stunning_.

“Harry!” The woman called out, her voice foreign accented and carrying over the lake unnaturally.

Harry lifted her head a bit out of the water and the woman stepped back, surprised.

Harry realised she must look rather alike a nymph and, as she didn’t know who this woman was, she was going to use this to her advantage. Swimming up slowly and keeping her head low on the water so just her nose peaked above the still waters, Harry went closer to have a look.

The woman put her hands on her hips and stared at Harry in annoyance as she came closer. The woman was dainty but fierce; despite her small frame, Harry had no illusion that this woman could take someone out.

“Harry, stop being ridiculous,” the woman said shortly. “Get out of the water, now.”

Harry blinked in surprise – the woman had recognised her. _Who is this?_ Harry thought to herself in shock, now only a few dozen metres away and staying within the relative safety of the water.

“Don’t make me come after you, idiot,” the woman said, wagging her finger at Harry, and there was something so _achingly_ familiar about her.

Harry gasped and began to swim towards the woman in earnest. _It can’t be!_ Harry thought, amazed.

“Nagini?” Harry asked as her feet finally made contact on the sloping beach of the lake, walking out of the water warily.

“Yes, _Nagini_ ,” the woman huffed. “Who else would it be?”

Harry felt a laugh burst through her lips. Definitely Nagini. “The last time I saw you, you were an old woman and then a very mean snake,” Harry retorted, pulling herself out of the water as her heavily wet dress spilling water onto the stony shore in rivulets.

Nagini rolled her eyes in exasperation, throwing her hands up. “You are so ridiculous sometimes, Harry. I have _always_ been me, I can’t be anyone else.”

Harry finally reached the unfamiliar form of Nagini, the woman a few centimetres shorter than her and looking up at Harry with an extremely cross expression. Harry yelped as Nagini reached out and pulled her into a tight hug, squishing Harry’s arms to her sides and trapping her in her veil.

“What are you doing wearing this stupid thing?” Nagini berated, pulling back and holding up the veil in disgust. She then flipped the front side of the veil over Harry’s head, exposing Harry’s face. “You aren’t a nymph.”

“I thought it would help keep people away,” Harry shrugged weakly, feeling quite a bit silly now. Nagini wasn’t being particularly cruel or intentionally mean; she was just simply a no-nonsense person.

“Well, I’m sure it would work on a normal human,” Nagini sniffed, jutting her jaw up. “But it won’t work on me or the Horcruxes.”

Harry flinched at the mention of the Horcruxes. “How did you find me, Nagini?” Harry asked, worrying her bottom lip. “Will they be able to find me as well?”

Nagini paused for a moment, considering. “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “I found you because… Well, I’m not sure how. But the moment you disappeared, I’ve been aware of you in the back of my mind. As soon as I had calmed down and regrown my legs, I decided to come find you.”

“I think we’re going to need to start at the beginning,” Harry said, confused.

Nagini sighed dramatically and grabbed Harry’s wrist, dragging her up the beach and into the forest.

After nearly half an hour of walking – Nagini dragging a stumbling, damp Harry behind her – they came across a small campsite, a gently smoking fire spitting in a small hearth.

“Sit,” Nagini instructed, heading toward a small tent and leaving Harry to sit down on a log by the fire. Nagini emerged with a soft pair of trousers, a long shirt, a sweater, and undergarments. “Put this on before you freeze,” Nagini told Harry firmly.

Tired of being bossed around, Harry rolled her eyes but obeyed. She pulled the veil and dress off in front of Nagini, not feeling the least bit shy as the woman waited with a raised brow, and Harry pulled on the dry clothes. Harry sighed in relief when Nagini procured a warm pair of moccasins, fur lined and the right size for her chilly toes.

As Harry hung up her dress and veil on a nearby branch to dry, Nagini regally settled herself on the log by the fire and began her story without prompting.

“Start from the beginning, you said,” Nagini stated. “Well, the beginning goes something like this: a long time ago, I was betrothed to Thomas Marvolo Riddle, The Second. I was a princess in a now dethroned eastern kingdom and Tom was a prince in the west. We both had terrible families and we didn’t particularly like one other at first.”

Harry snorted, wondering if _anyone_ liked Nagini at first. At Nagini’s sharp, pointed stare, Harry quickly rose her palms in an appeasing gesture and quieted down.

“But as time went on,” Nagini continued, jutting her jaw, “Tom and I became good friends. We weren’t romantically inclined, you see, because I prefer women.”

Harry choked on her breath at Nagini’s words. She had heard of women like this on very rare occasion, but it was not spoken about in Harry’s village as it wasn’t considered polite conversation.

Nagini continued on as if Harry hadn’t even reacted. “So, we agreed to the marriage, if only to get our atrocious parents off our backs, and we knew that together we would be able to rule the world. On the eve of our wedding, however, I was very stressed and said some rather regrettable things to a warlock who was a wedding guest of the far north. He was so offended that he cursed me into transforming into a snake whenever I was agitated. The warlock knew that Tom could speak to snakes, as it was a hereditary trait gifted from his ancestors and his land’s goddess, and the old warlock thought me such a shrew that only my husband should be able to understand me when angry. The warlock also knew that I am agitated most of the time and had essentially cursed me to a life as a snake.”

Harry stared at Nagini with wide eyes. “So – the entire time I have known you, you have been really upset?” Harry asked.

“Catastrophically angry, yes,” Nagini confirmed haughtily. “I was very angry that Tom had put me in that damned faerie circle – _to keep me safe_ , he claimed – and I was extremely frustrated when I met you because I was very hungry and lonely. I was only able to take the shape of an old woman because of the magical charms on the house and it was very miserable being trapped in that old woman’s sore frame.”

“I’m sorry, Nagini,” Harry said, feeling terrible. “That is just awful. I couldn’t imagine a curse so _horrible_.”

Nagini’s sharp eyes softened, then. She reached out and took Harry’s hands gently in her own and looked deep into Harry’s eyes.

Harry smiled at Nagini, immediately relaxing under Nagini’s softened gaze. “I was really worried about you,” Harry admitted. “You had sounded so upset when we were being chased down by that blond Death Eater. I thought you sounded terrified of being caught by Voldemort.”

Nagini shrugged softly, not letting go of Harry’s hands. “I was scared, at the time, because I was weak and worried I would not be able to fight back. But Tom was so distracted by news of you that I was able to eat, sleep, and come at him refreshed. I gave him quite a slap, you know, after you disappeared.”

Harry felt a startled sound break out of her lips. “You _slapped_ Voldemort?” She asked, amazed.

“Of course,” Nagini sniffed. “Sometimes I think violence is the only language that brute understands. He has been a terribly rude idiot ever since he destroyed your homeland and you went missing. Just after he did that, I had told him off rather ferociously and, because I did, he put me in the faerie circle.”

“When you say _Tom_ ,” Harry began slowly, eyebrows knitting, “Do you mean the King?”

Nagini sighed, long and deep. “This… _This_ is a difficult one to explain. Tom is an amalgamation of all the inner circle, the Horcruxes. There is the King, who his kingdom refers to as Voldemort. Tom is also myself and the five Horcrux knights. We are him.”

Harry knows that she should probably pretend to be surprised, but she has already heard the gist of the story from the Goddess Mother and she has so many questions that she can’t be bothered to pretend to not know.

“So, you _are_ one, then?” Harry pressed, leaning in towards Nagini with fascination.

“Ah, you know what a Horcrux means,” Nagini said, eyeing Harry with consideration. “Then this will make the story simpler to tell. Yes, I have a piece of Tom within me. The part I received was the part that loved me, the friend and the ally. I can feel him within me and can communicate with him, if need be.”

Harry watched Nagini curiously as the woman’s eyes glazed over and she stared off into the forest distantly.

“I can feel all of them, you know. The six pieces. They are composed like this: There is the King, who goes by Voldemort, and he is the warlord. He is authoritative, controlling, a fierce strategist. His form was taken from the ashes of his dead father. There is Tome, who was actually transformed from a diary, but we thought it amusing to call him _Tome_ as he came from Tom,” Nagini said, distantly amused. “Tome is bright, charismatic, young, fierce. He enjoys quests and saving the damsels in distress. He is the one you met when you were younger, I believe,” Nagini added, looking at Harry out of the corner of her eye with an amused look.

Harry blushed at the memory. _Bright, charismatic, young, fierce_. That was a good description of the knight she had met all those years ago.

Nagini continued, looking up to the canopy and closing her eyes as she spoke. “There is Crown, who I personally think would be a much better king than Voldemort, but he prefers to stay behind in the shadows. Crown is the real politician, the better strategist. He is the historian and he advises the King. Then there is Chalice, who is the hunter within Tom. He is the striker, the tracker, the bloodthirsty predator.”

At this, Nagini looked at Harry and said, “It was Chalice, you know, who saved you in the forest. He is the most instinctual of us all. He heard your call of distress in the forest and went after you. But, being the pigheaded hunter he is, the idiot realised what you were and instead of worshipping you immediately like he should have, the moron thought to stash you in the faerie circle like one of his hunting trophies,” Nagini sighed, shaking her head.

Nagini continued on, “Then you have Pendant, who is the monstrously angry one. The others are all very sharp edged, but Pendant is the cruel one. You know, killing ants, terrorising children, summoning demons, and the like.”

“And the like?” Harry repeated, appalled.

Nagini’s eyes went dark. “And last, you have Stone,” she said softly. “Stone is the closest tie to death. He is one that I would recommend you stay away from. His touch can kill and resurrect on command. He is the Necromancer.”

Harry stared at Nagini with wide eyes. “You are all so… _Different_. I know that many parts make a person, and that breaking apart a person may create individual characters, but surely you cannot be so severe?” Harry asked, worrying her bottom lip. 

Nagini thought on Harry’s words for a minute. “Just because we come from the same source, from Tom, does not mean that we like each other, necessarily. As one might hate a part of themselves, so do the Horcruxes. For example, a while back Pendant tried to overthrow the others and so we trapped him in a cave for a very long time. He was pretty upset about it, but he eventually figured out how to escape and he’s been stewing about it since,” Nagini said, shrugging. “At one point or another, we have all been ostracised. Myself in the fae ring, Chalice in a dragon guarded lair, Pendant in the cave, the King cursed as a ghoul in a faraway land, Tome made blind and deaf and trapped in a library, Crown in a pocket dimension, Stone in a great golden orb. We always manage to find our way back, though. Immortality gives oneself an opportunity to consider a great many escape plans. Without you, though, I fear I would have rotted in the faerie ring until Tom remembered I existed.”

Harry felt her head spin with all the information she had learned.

“You are the love,” Harry said at last, considering what Nagini had said before.

Nagini shrugged softly, as if she only half-agreed. “I am his passion, in a way. And yet they all have passion within them. If there is anything about Tom that is for sure, it is that he is the most passionate of any man or beast I have ever met. Whatever he feels, whenever he feels it – he feels it strongly.”

“Is that why the King – why Voldemort kissed me?” Harry asked, blushing darkly at the memory. “Out of excitement for having won another battle?”

Nagini’s eyes twinkled suddenly, her expression growing sly. “Ah, yes – _that_ was interesting. I spoke to Tome after you disappeared and learnt that _he_ had kissed you too.”

Harry swallowed a lump in her throat, her mouth suddenly very dry at being under the full attentions of Nagini’s wicked stare.

“I have a theory,” Nagini said, leaning closer to Harry. Harry blinked in surprise at the woman’s closeness, their faces mere centimetres apart and sharing breath. “I think that because you are our soul’s bonded that we feel drawn to you. You speak Parseltongue, a gift from the Serpent Goddess of Tom’s land. It is given to those that the Goddess think is special. Tom has been very proud of being the only one who could speak Parseltongue and I think the King was overwhelmed by the realisation that his own Goddess had chosen you. The Horcruxes don’t think much of fae magic and have always been rather annoyed and dismissive that the Fates chose him as your fated soul bond.”

Harry watched Nagini’s eyes. At this proximity, she could see that the woman’s dark charcoal eyes had thin slits for pupils, which dilated when Nagini looked down at Harry’s mouth.

“I also have a theory to test,” Nagini whispered, leaning even closer. “Don’t move.”

Harry inhaled sharply through her nose when Nagini pressed her full lips to Harry’s in a gentle kiss. She watched with wide eyes as Nagini’s eyes fluttered closed and Harry felt something strange pull from inside her body, a yearning that made Harry lean further into the kiss. One of Nagini’s hands gently slid up Harry’s neck, her thumb pressing against the pulse point of Harry’s throat, and Nagini sighed. Harry’s eyes closed on their own accord, her scar thrumming gently as Nagini softly kissed her with passionate affection.

After what felt like both a lifetime and yet hardly enough time, Nagini’s hand pressed against Harry’s throat and she guided them into gently breaking apart.

Harry broke into a furious blush as she opened her eyes, blinking at Nagini in shock as the woman smiled wickedly, her pleased expression smugly predatory.

“The soul shards are drawn to kiss you,” Nagini whispered, her tongue swiping her bottom lip and still watching Harry’s mouth with lazy interest. “There is an old children’s story of a princess who kisses a frog and the frog turns into a handsome prince. I believe that if you kiss all the soul shards, you will be able to unite them all. True love’s kiss, and all that rubbish. I hardly give much credence to such magic, but the Fate Goddesses of your kingdom have a rather wicked sense of humour and I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Harry could hardly speak, still reeling from the kiss. She certainly didn’t feel about Nagini the same way that she felt about Tome, who had been a figment of Harry’s fantasies for years. And yet kissing Nagini had felt natural, their lips slotting together like puzzle pieces and making Harry dazed.

“Ah, if only you were my fated,” Nagini sighed wistfully, pressing forward once more to press a final soft peck against Harry’s lips and then moving away to collect a log and toss it on the fire.

Harry could hardly move, completely thrown by the events of the hour. Nagini had found her, told her about the Horcruxes, and then had given her the sweetest, most moving kiss she had ever experienced just to prove a theory.

“You – ” Harry began, her voice breaking. Harry cleared her throat in embarrassment and started again. “You aren’t my soulmate, not like Tom?”

“No,” Nagini sighed, stoking the fire into a warm blaze. “I am my own person, you see. I received a piece of Tom when he made the deal with the devil and I suppose it was because I was the only person he’d ever loved, even if it was just as a friend. When the soul shards unite, I believe I will be just me again.”

“You want the soul shards to unite?” Harry asked, surprised. “I thought that being a soul shard, a Horcrux, kept you immortal. That you would want to be like this forever.”

Nagini sat back down next to Harry, tilting her head as she considered her reply. “I have been alive for a very long time because of Tom’s deal with his devil,” she said thoughtfully, “And yet I have spent most of it angry or sad, or both whilst trapped as a snake. I wouldn’t mind falling in love and living a mortal life, rather than be trapped as a miserable immortal. When I was young, I would never have thought I’d say such a sappy thing. But time and age have given me perspective. Somehow, I think Tom would feel the same way by now.”

Harry mulled over Nagini’s words. It seemed like a terrible half-life, to be trapped in the realm between death and life if one didn’t have anyone to share it with.

“Now, what have you been up to since you collapsed in the creek outside of the battlefield?” Nagini asked, changing topic breezily. “The King refused to tell me where he had stashed you, the git. I have to admit, it felt rather pleasing to see the King fall over when you disappeared from between his arms and the Horcruxes thrown into a hectic tizzy when they couldn’t find you.” Nagini laughed as she spoke, as if delighted by the chaos Harry has caused.

Harry groaned, thinking over the past twenty-four hours. “You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you,” Harry said heavily, joining in Nagini’s laughter weakly and musing over the events since they had broken out of the faerie circle.

Nagini made a curious noise and poked at Harry until the younger woman squeaked, “Fine, _fine_ , I’ll tell you.”

Harry went into detail to describe the dungeon she had been imprisoned in, the horrible guard (this part making had Nagini stilling like an angry viper), the blond Death Eater Draco who had walked her to a castle room to clean herself up. She described the torturous makeover session by the three handmaidens, who turned out most certainly to _not_ to be handmaidens.

Harry went over the meeting with Voldemort quickly, as Nagini had been there, but then went into deep detail over the accidental time freeze she had caused, how she had made it into the forest and was able to make the rift in time heal. She spoke about the nymph she had met and drinking the magical, healing waters of the rockpools. She described her vision of meeting the Goddess Mother and remembering who she was, what she was born into before being dropped off unceremoniously at the Dursley’s estate. She explained the Hunger to Nagini, whose eyes darkened in recognition at the mention of the beast. At last, Harry explained how she had come to the lake, right before she ran into Nagini.

“That… Is all rather unbelievable,” Nagini said. Before Harry could protest, she held up her hand. “But I find that the truth is often stranger than fiction and somehow that all rings true.”

“You have no idea,” Harry sighed, rubbing her hand over her face.

“Well,” Nagini said shortly, all business. “I’ve heard of the Hunger, even from within the Fae Circle. The Horcruxes have been trying to deal with it for a very long time. I suspect that, like the Mother Goddess said, if you unite with your fated then the magic alone from the union will crush the Hunger. It should also sate Death’s anger, at being snubbed by Tom. I told the idiot, when he made the deal with the devil, that it was a _terrible_ idea,” Nagini bit out, annoyed.

“What do you propose we do?” Harry asked, feeling completely out of her depth. She worried about her village, her countryside – _her people_. Harry had briefly forgotten her royal ties to the land, but thinking of the Hunger reminded her that she had an obligation to protect her people, even if it meant giving up herself to her fated match.

“We need to find all the Horcruxes and trick them into kiss you,” Nagini stated dryly.

Harry choked on the water flask she had been sipping from, nearly dropping it in her shock and looking at Nagini with wide eyes. “M-make them _kiss_ me?” She stammered. “That’s – Nagini, that’s a _really_ _stupid fucking idea_.”

Nagini merely smiled at Harry serenely. “Harry, darling, what do you know of guerrilla tactics?” She asked, too innocent to be anything shy of terrifying.

“Uh,” Harry replied dumbly, worried by Nagini’s breezy demeanour. “Like… Gorillas? The monkeys?”

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” Nagini giggled in delight, smugly grinning at the wary younger woman. Harry felt the hair on her arms rise in the face of Nagini’s glee. “I have so much to teach you, and in _such_ a short amount of time.”

Harry felt a shudder run down her spine at Nagini’s words, wondering what in Circe’s name she had gotten herself into.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for readers: (temporary) major character death

* * *

Nagini explained the plan to Harry with glee, ignoring Harry’s paling expression and uncomfortable shifting. Nagini was indeed a clever woman, for her plan was somehow concurrently disastrously dangerous, evilly sneaky, and perhaps just crazy enough to work.

“So…” Harry began slowly, putting her thoughts together. “You want me to pretend to be the damsel in distress and call the Horcruxes to me, one at a time. You believe that if I run, they’ll take chase, and the key is to let them catch me and snog me?” Harry clarified, looking at Nagini for confirmation.

At Nagini’s nod, Harry continued dazedly. “And you think that if I get the rest of the Horcruxes to kiss me, _something_ ,” Harry emphasised by wiggling her fingers in the air as quotation marks, “will happen that will cause them to unite and become whole again.”

“Yes,” Nagini replied simply.

“You want me to lure a bunch of homicidal soul shards after me by pretending to be prey, let them _pin me_ , and then expect them to just stop after a kiss?” Harry repeated again in a different way, just to make sure she had heard right.

Nagini waved her hand in the air dismissively. “You have extremely strong magic, Harry. If you’re at all frightened, just use your magic to freeze time again.”

“And if _that_ doesn’t work?” Harry asked, dangerously calm.

“Then you’ll get a bit more than a kiss from your fated,” Nagini said, eyes twinkling. “I would have thought you wouldn’t have minded a shagging. Stress relief would do you some good.”

“N- _Nagini_ ,” Harry spluttered, now blushing dark red. “That’s – _Goddess –_ that is so rude!”

“Harry,” Nagini said slyly as her eyes lit up, something mischievous and naughty coming forward, and Harry realised she wanted nothing to do with it. “Are you a _virgin_?”

“That is completely inappropriate,” Harry said, shooting to her feet and quickly walking off to check if her dress had dried, mostly to hide her horrible blush from Nagini’s stupid laughing face.

“Oh, _mercy_ ,” Nagini cackled, squawking as she fell off the log backwards but continuing her gales of laughter. “You precocious little girl! Oh, I bet the only kisses you’ve ever had have been from _Tom_!”

Harry shifted on her feet, the laughter friendly but still stinging Harry uncomfortably. “I know that I’m not particularly pretty, not without the help of a lot of makeup,” Harry said, frowning. “I just haven’t really attracted many people.”

Nagini stopped laughing and sat up, surprised. “Harry,” she admonished, frowning. “Don’t be stupid. Besides, even if you _were_ embarrassed about your looks, which you shouldn’t, the fae women who gave you a makeover seem to have changed your appearance slightly.”

Harry inhaled sharply. “How so?” She asked, appalled. Harry brought her hands up to her face, feeling her features.

Nagini stood and brushed herself delicately. “Not by much, but they’ve made your lips pinker, the khol around your eyes permanent. I wouldn’t be surprised if all that waxing and plucking they did is permanent too. The fae are known to be hideously vain, as if having _hair_ were to be something to be ashamed of,” Nagini sniffed, clearly offended by the idea, “But even though they did those things, it didn’t change _who you are,_ Harry. No matter what they did, Tom would want you.”

Harry scowled at Nagini. “Is this your attempt to butter me up to kiss me again?” She asked warily.

“Oh, darling,” Nagini purred, edging near. “If I wanted to kiss you again, I simply would. You’re just too precious for your own good.”

Harry sighed, looking to the heavens for patience. No wonder the Witte Wieven had thrown Harry in the path of these people as a last ditch effort to stop them – they were completely _absurd._

“All right, we need to actually come up with a strategy,” Nagini said, eyes twinkling. “And I think I have the perfect plan.”

* * *

Harry floated in the lake she had been swimming in before, sighing as she looked up to the cornflower blue sky. As Nagini had rearranged the veil back on Harry’s head (“Trust me Harry, the boys have a thing for the nymph look,” she had smugly said, to Harry’s pinched consternation), Nagini had tried to convince Harry to go in naked under the veil. Which had resulted in Harry sending the woman away while Harry changed into her dress and rather firmly informed the snake woman she was to not come back until she could _behave herself._

Harry had gotten back into the white dress as it was the prettiest thing she owned (despite it being half ruined from being worn around a forest) and the nymph veil floated prettily around Harry. It made her feel brave, like she was an immortal magical creature that could fend for herself and drown a man twice her size if she needed to.

Nagini’s plan was very simple: make Harry the bait, call one of the horcruxes under the guise that she was trying to ‘capture’ Harry and needed help, and then step back and let Harry take it away from there.

It was very silly, Harry thought. She sincerely doubted that any of the horcruxes were going to kiss her. Well, _three_ had already, but that was completely different.

Harry blinked up at the sky, considering. Was it really that different? Or were the horcruxes impossibly pulled toward her, the same way she felt toward them? Could a fraction piece of soul feel the call of the soul bond?

_Remember,_ Harry thought to herself firmly, _This is for your village, your people. If the soul bond isn’t united, the Hunger will just continue consuming until there is nothing left_.

Harry had always been a bit self-critical and shy, but when it came to her people and her friends – she would do _anything_ to save them. Threaten her friends, and a lioness’ share of protectiveness came out from within.

Harry going along with the plan had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Harry was faintly curious to see if it would work nor the fact that Harry kind of wanted to know how the other horcruxes kissed.

Harry blushed, somehow managing to fluster herself, and she sighed in annoyance.

A crashing noise at the edge of the lake had Harry jerking upright in the water, nearly sinking with how quickly she had shifted, and she nearly swallowed a mouthful of lake water at the sight of what could only be Chalice crashing into the water, moving harshly as he waded into the water.

Harry watched Chalice with wide eyes for a moment, stunned. _This_ had been the one that saved her in the forest, from the Hunger? He wore a thick, hooded coat pulled over his head and a decorative gold faceguard covering his lower face, a popular design with dark creature hunters. But most shocking part of him was his _eyes_. His grey irises glowered at Harry with fixed determination as he waded deeper into the water, a predatory gleam emphasized by his scowl. The charcoal underlining his eyes had bled down his cheeks, giving him a haunted look.

There was something deeply animalistic about him, something that made Harry feel fixed in place as she watched the hunter approach her, now neck deep and swimming towards the middle of the lake where Harry found herself stuck.

In the background, along the tree line, Nagini emerged and began waving her arms at Harry, as if to say, _The plan, you idiot!_

Harry’s eyes flickered to Nagini and her instincts came crashing back, flooding her body with the need to _move_.

If there was one thing that bathing in the pools in the Nymph Forest by her house had taught her, it was how to move fast in the water when she needed to. Harry curled in the water and began to swim as fast as she could to the other side of the lake, the veil wrapping around her face uncomfortably as she wriggled around it and backstroked as hard as she could to the shore.

_How the bloody hell do nymphs swim in these things?_ Harry despaired, having to work twice as hard as normal to swim her quickest speed.

At last, Harry made it up the lake shore. The second her feet touched the slippery rocks of the beach, she ran the rest of the way up. Harry didn’t dare a look behind her, her heart now beating with the franticness of a frightened rabbit. When Harry had been discussing the plan with Nagini, she hadn’t counted on getting so wound up, to feel like she was actually being _chased._ Something deep within, something in her veins, told Harry to _run_.

Harry picked up the soggy hems of her dress and the veil in her fists and burst through the edge of the forest line, racing through the thick shrubbery at her top speed. Ever since that night at Samhain, Harry had gotten better at racing through the woods, moving with the agility of a doe. It felt like a touch of magic, her feet ghosting over the forest floor.

Harry couldn’t hear anything other than the crashing of her heart in her ears. The wind passed over her face and ran through the trees, as if egging her on.

Eventually, after what felt like a small age, Harry chanced a glance behind her. The hunter was nowhere to be seen. Harry skidded to a stop in a small clearing, panting heavily as she fought to catch her breath. She looked around in surprise, turning on her feet to check all angles. The hunter was gone. The woods were dead quiet, only the distant sound of bird calls and the rustling of the wind through the trees breaking the silence.

As her breath slowed, Harry wondered if she had somehow outrun the Horcrux. Nagini had warned her that he was a capable hunter, the best of the best, and yet he was nowhere to be found. _So much for that_ , Harry thought to herself, allowing herself a smug smile despite the stress of the situation. _Best hunter there is. Hah, what a wanker._

Harry heard a twig snap and she turned just in time to see Chalice leaping through the air with his hands outstretched, his grey eyes wide and pupils blown, and she cried out in stunned fear as she was tackled to the ground.

The two rolled as Harry tangled their legs and fought to not get pinned, twisting and turning on the dense forest ground. Harry had been tackled quite a few times in her life (her cousin’s invention of _Harry Hunting_ had seen ages eight through to fifteen a rather miserable time for her) and she certainly wasn’t going to let herself get pinned without putting up a fight. At some point, her veil was ripped off and tossed to the side and Harry had managed to grab onto that stupid facemask of his and yanked it off, flinging it away as she scrabbled for traction.

The ground and sky blended as Harry rolled, grunting in effort as she elbowed the Horcrux knight in the stomach and flipping them as their momentum slowed. Harry forced one more burst of energy through her limbs and she planted her knees on the ground on either side of his hips, wrapped her hands around the hunter’s wrists to pin them to the ground, and sat firmly on his stomach.

The hunter lay under Harry, looking at her with a stunned expression, as if shocked she could pin him.

“Hah!” Harry crowed, caught up in the adrenaline and grinning freely. “Take _that_ , you twat!”

Chalice’s eyes narrowed and Harry barely had a moment to say, “Wait, no, _shite_ – ” before she was flipped with a rather expertise move and Harry found her back crushed against the forest floor, the Horcrux plastered against her front, and one of his hands pinning both of her wrists above her head.

“How the actual hell?” Harry asked, dazed, trying to tug her wrists out of his hold.

The Horcrux merely growled and he wrapped his free hand high on Harry’s throat, not enough to choke but strong enough to keep her still, and then he was kissing her.

_Holy shit,_ Harry thought, eyes closing and body relaxing. _I can’t believe the plan actually fucking worked._

Unlike the kiss shared with Tome or Voldemort or Nagini, this kiss was all teeth and nips and Harry shuddered as he lowered himself until he was nearly completely laying on top of her, Harry’s legs parting instinctively to pull him in closer and her ankles curling around the back of his knees. Harry moaned as the hunter bit down on her lip softly, pulling it gently, and Harry’s eyes slipped open to watch him with breathless pleasure as he delved back into her mouth.

The hand on her wrists released and Harry felt her fingers lace into his hair on their own volition, tugging on the thick black strands fisted between her fingers and eliciting an incredible growl from the man. Harry sighed as the hand on her neck slipped around to rest on the nape of her skull, sinking into her hair and arching her neck so he could press deeper into her mouth. His other hand was suddenly pushing her dress up, a rough thumb stroking her hipbone.

“W-wait,” Harry gasped, yanking on that rich hair to pull the Horcrux’s face off hers. The man growled again, deep and baritone, and Harry almost let him press back in because, Goddess _damn._

Harry looked up at the Horcrux with a firm look and he quieted down, removing his hands from her to rest his forearms on the forest ground and take most of his weight off her.

“You – you saved me, from the Hunger,” Harry said, feeling flushed and her lips aching with how much they had been abused, and yet she needed to say this. “Thank you, really.”

The Horcrux stared down at her impassively.

“You’re not exactly _chatty_ like the others, are you?” Harry said, perhaps a little irritably. Just because he hadn’t spoken to her yet didn’t mean that he hadn’t already annoyed her.

“I figured you would disappear again if I gave you a moment to think,” Chalice drawled and Harry’s eyes widened at the baritone hum of it, his chest vibrating against hers. She felt herself flush more, that heat in her lower stomach flaring in reply.

“Well, I’ve had a moment to think,” Harry snapped back, feeling a little embarrassed by how weird she was feeling, “And I’ve not gone anywhere, now have I?”

Chalice looked down at her, considering. “I suppose not,” he replied dryly.

“And whilst I’m thankful that you saved me from the monster,” Harry continued, really picking up speed now with how annoyed she was, “I have to say that it was _incredibly_ rude of you to abandon me – and in a faerie circle, of all places! Circe, you’d think you had absolutely no manners at all,” Harry admonished, feeling extremely cross.

“I was coming back,” Chalice replied, raising an eyebrow. “I was collecting supplies.”

“And then what?” Harry scoffed, “Because I had no clothes and there was still quite a bit of Bonding magic left over and – _oh_.” Harry stared up at him, a dark flush bursting across her cheeks. “You wanted – you were going to – ”

“Consummate the soul bond with my fated in a place I could never get tired or hungry or distracted by human necessities? A place where no one would ever bother us?” Chalice asked, tone rather smug for how blank his expression was.

“Um,” Harry said, feeling like she had just floated out of her own being and was now having an out-of-body experience as she processed that information, unsure whether to be completely embarrassed or throw all inhibitions out the window. “You were going to… _Consummate_?” She repeated, not even sure if the question made sense.

A monster of heat and want unfurled in her lower stomach, tingling her limbs and flooding her with a euphoric need to touch the man hovering over her.

A grin slowly stole across Chalice’s face, first beginning at the very corners of his mouth and then spreading across his features until his eyes had narrowed in mirth. It was a gorgeous, dangerous, predatory smile that had Harry’s heart stopping in her chest for a moment.

“You didn’t know, little nymph?” Chalice whispered slyly, slowly lowering back down on Harry’s frame and bracing himself on one forearm so he could press a callused hand against her face, the touch surprisingly soft. Harry stared up at him, wide eyed, as she processed his words. “Shall I take you there now _?_ We still haven’t consummated the mating ritual.”

“Uh,” Harry said, rather stupidly, because her mouth was trying to say _yes_ except Harry’s not sure if she wants it to. But – well, _really_. Why _shouldn’t_ she say yes? Harry stared at him with wide eyes as her mind played tug-of-war with the answer she wanted to give.

Chalice’s grin somehow sharpened and then he was guiding her face up to his, pressing a soft kiss onto her lips. Harry melted into his hold, sighing into the deepening kiss as she wrapped her hands around his neck and felt the strong pumping of his pulse under her fingers.

Harry was nearly completely out of it as she felt herself carried out to sea, her body responding to the soft touch of rough callused hands running down her chest over her dress, a thumb under her breast and down her stomach. She hardly noticed the sound of rustling in the background, except Chalice did and his stiffing against her made her groan in annoyance. He pulled away and Harry nearly cried out with bottled frustration, instead letting her head fall back onto the forest ground and sighing deeply as she reeled.

“My, my, Chalice,” a familiar voice said, humour laced in his tone. Harry blinked at the canopy above as Chalice suddenly stood, the arm that had wrapped around her waists gone in an instant, dropping her and leaving Harry feeling rather cold and foolish. Harry sat up and blushingly righted her dress from where she sat on the forest ground, feeling a little indignant.

From behind a tree curled Tome, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Harry’s face, which had already been slightly blushing, began to burn and she covered her face with her hands.

_Oh, Goddess,_ Harry thought to herself miserably. This was the one that she had been dreaming about for four years. But the dreams had been precisely that – _dreams_. Harry would have willingly married some village idiot (if only to get some self-autonomy, away from Aunt Petunia) and would have happily daydreamed about Tome without ever wanting to meet him again. But now he was _here_ , watching Harry blush like a torch, in her damp, dirty dress, trying to right herself after nearly letting Chalice abscond her to an enchanted forest to have what would probably have been extremely vigorous, potentially high-endurance sex with the animalistic Horcrux.

Harry sighed and stood to her feet, stumbling slightly as her knees got used to working again, and she frowned at Tome as regally as she could whilst she had leaves in her hair.

“Tome,” Harry said regally, staring at Tome with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you have nymphs to kidnap?”

“And here I was, thinking you were a girl of virtue,” Tome laughed, in that snarky little tone that made Harry want to fucking _punch_ him.

“It’s been four years,” Harry replied snappily, “My virtue is none of your business.”

Chalice was watching the interaction with hooded eyes, flicking back and forth between the two as they stared one another down. Chalice collected his discarded face protection and fastened it back on his jaw, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Your virtue is not only my business, it’s _mine_ , little princess,” Tome replied smugly, expression too haughty for Harry’s tastes.

“No,” Harry countered, “My virtue belongs to _him_.” At that, she pointed at Chalice to really emphasize her point. Not that Harry actually believed that a woman’s virtue belonged to _anyone_ , because _fuck that,_ but it was certainly worth saying it to watch Tome’s eyes narrow and look at Chalice, considering.

Chalice gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I did rescue her during the Sacrifice Ritual. According to her people’s legend, that turned it into the Mating Ritual and she’s now mine.”

“The Bonding!” Harry corrected quickly, flushing. “The _Bonding_ Ritual.”

“Same difference,” Chalice said, not even bothering to address her directly as he glowered at Tome.

“On _my_ horse,” Tome said, crossing his arms and frowning at his fellow Horcrux. “You stole _my_ fucking horse.”

“Mine was too far away,” Chalice replied tonelessly. “And you wouldn’t have been able to save her anyway. You’re the little dandy one, if you recall.”

Tome practically snarled, rounding on Chalice as he apparently hit a sore nerve.

Harry, at this point, had decided to back away slowly. Quietly, she said, “ _Please don’t notice me leaving, not for a while yet.”_ She said it in the same tone that she politely asked the birds to not eat her bees and it always seemed to work.

“The _dandy_ one? You disgusting troll, you’re the speechless animalistic one,” Tome spat, eyes glowering at Chalice.

“I’m the strong and silent one,” Chalice corrected, not sounding particularly invested in the argument but seemingly enjoying riling Tome up. “You’re apparently the ‘damsel in distress’ one, and yet I was the only one present to save the only damsel in distress that matters from the Hunger. You missed your cue.”

Harry continued her backward creep until the two were out of sight, their arguing audible and reassuring her that her missing presence had not gone noticed.

It was rather alike two brothers bitching at one another over stupid history between them.

“What a bunch of idiots,” Harry muttered to herself, rolling her eyes once she felt safe enough to start running without garnering attention, the two arguing over silly semantics still audible even from far away.

* * *

By the time Harry made it back to Nagini’s camp by sundown, she was cranky and tired. Harry had pointedly run in the opposite direction of Nagini’s camp for a while, making sure that the hunter would be able to track her bare footprints by purposely walking through puddles and breaking the occasional branch. She finally came across a stream and she backtracked the land she had passed through by going down the stream, back in the direction of the lake. It was slow going, as the rocky stream bed was slippery, but it was worth it to remain untraceable. The hunter would think she had gone upstream, as she had been running away from the lake.

“Ah, lover girl,” Nagini had greeted, grinning at Harry’s ruffled state. “Lost your virginity yet?”

Harry immediately spluttered, throwing up her hands in defeat. “You are the most inappropriate person I have ever, _ever_ met.”

“Really?” Nagini asked, taping her chin with a long nail and perched on her log as if it were a throne, staring at Harry with sly amusement. “You’d think that position would be held by Chalice, judging the condition of your dress.”

Harry sighed, getting changed back into the warm clothes Nagini had provided. “Unfortunately, I think it’s time to dispose of this thing,” Harry said, holding out the dress and draping it over a nearby tree branch. “Also, Tome arrived and interrupted us before anything could happen.”

Nagini sat up at this, attention alert. “I suppose he could have tracked Chalice,” Nagini mused. “Though we’ll have to keep an eye out on that one. Cheeky, he is. And he’s already gotten his kiss, so he’ll just have to wait.”

Harry collapsed on a blanket Nagini had set out earlier, close to the fire and warming her cold hands.

“I think that these kisses are going to be the death of me,” Harry sighed.

Nagini’s answering leer was salacious enough to make Harry want to climb into the tent and sleep for a hundred years.

* * *

Harry stood on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, a small farm homestead visible in the distance and the sounds of a nearby tolling town bell reaching her ears.

“Really?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Nagini answered.

“No, _really_?” Harry pressed, hands on her hips.

“ _Yes_ , really,” Nagini replied, pouting.

“I’m not wearing them,” Harry answered, pointing at the _things_ in Nagini’s hands.

“Well, you’ve lost your veil and this is the next best thing,” Nagini replied. “Trust me on this.”

“What is wrong with these Horcruxes?” Harry asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “In what universe would _heels_ be considered attractive?”

“It’s a man thing,” Nagini shrugged. “You know how it goes. Something about making it harder for girls to run away, or a perky butt, or whatever. I don’t really pay attention. Personally, I like my women to wear _less_ , not more.”

Harry sighed before stretching out her hand to take the heels, Nagini’s rude words no longer embarrassing her. After getting properly felt up in the forest by the hunter horcrux, Harry felt like her bar for shame had risen so high that it would really take a new level of humiliation to bother her.

“Where are you even getting all this stuff?” Harry asked, reaching down to fit the stupid things to her feet. They made Harry considerably taller, but it was an awkward perch; she felt like she could trip over and break an ankle at any time.

Nagini waved her hand dismissively, as if she didn’t have the energy to explain.

“Fine. Who is next, then?” Harry asked bossily, frowning as she looked down at herself. Nagini had procured a soft, dark green dress from her tent and forced Harry to fit into it early that morning. It was a bit more comfortable than the white dress and it had long sleeves that split at her elbows, hanging down past her hands. The scooping neckline clung on bravely to the edges of her shoulders and the long skirt flowed down to her feet like a waterfall. The heels were barely visible under the dress.

Harry felt like an actual imbecile.

“Well, we still have Pendant, Crown, and Stone. I think we’d best leave Stone to last, in case kissing him kills you, being that he is a necromancer,” Nagini said, breezing right through that statement before Harry had a moment to process it, “So pick: either the bitchy one or the nerd.”

Harry gaped at Nagini and her preposterousness. “I – _kill me?_ The nerd? What?” She said, always somehow taken off guard by Nagini’s bluntness.

“The nerd it is, then,” Nagini said, nodding.

“Wait, hold on,” Harry began to say, frantic, but Nagini had that weird concentration look on her face that Harry had come to realise was the look of her communicating with the other Horcruxes. Harry squawked, “I said hold on!”

“Well, too late,” Nagini said, melting back into the forest. “Remember to run this time. Crown will notice if I’m waving at you from behind him, like I had to with Chalice.”

Harry groaned and turned on her heels, shakily righting herself as she remembered she was in stilettos. Harry jumped as Nagini slapped her firmly on the arse and she turned sharply to snap at the woman – and blinked as she realised Nagini had disappeared.

“Bloody evil snake woman,” Harry muttered to herself angrily, gripping her skirt so she wouldn’t trip and turning to walk down the dirt path. Her head felt weirdly heavy from where Nagini had piled her hair messily on her head and had woven a gold-plated headdress onto her, the thing a combination of delicate chains and dangling pearls. It made Harry look like a noble and, for some reason, that really annoys Harry.

Harry enjoys being simple. Just Harry. She likes working on a farm and wearing boy’s slacks and being _competent._

This damsel in distress thing was _really_ getting old.

Harry passed a sign, presumably to announce the village up ahead, and she stopped as someone appeared at the end of the path. He was just far enough away to be difficult to make out and yet Harry knew immediately who it was.

“Oh _no_ ,” Harry muttered to herself in mock fear. “Run away, Harry. Before the bad man gets you.”

Harry then purposely turned on her heels and walked back toward the forest in as fast as a pace as her heels would allow. Before she reached the edge of the forest, the person she had seen in the path – too far away to really make out, but close enough to chase – curled around the trunk of one of the trees in front of her.

Harry stopped dead still, looking at the Horcrux. _Did he just… Teleport himself?_ Harry thought, surprised.

Rather than being in full armour, the Crown horcrux was in a rather well fitted military suit. The flattering cut emphasized his chest and waist, the fabric black and embroidered with golden stitching in bars across his chest.

His eyes, like the other Horcruxes, was his most stunning feature. His irises glimmered with deceptive intelligence, eyes narrowing as he looked down at Harry with a derisive expression.

“What do you want?” Harry said, jutting out her jaw. “If you’re just going to stand there like an idiot rather than do something, I suppose I ought get on with my day.”

The Horcrux frowned at her, expression twisting in disgust. “You are very rude,” Crown said, his words clipped and cultured. “I don’t see what the others see in you.”

“I’m rude?” Harry asked, aghast. “Well, _excuse_ me if I’m not polite to the man who murdered my parents,” she snapped back, extremely offended by the preposterousness of it all. “A man who despised the idea of my people’s tradition of soul bonds _so much_ that he would rather raze my country to the ground than actually consider that someone might be his equal.”

Crown bared his teeth at those words, hissing, “I have _no_ equal, especially not if she’s some snotty little farm hand.”

Harry placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. _This_ was the nerd, not the bitchy one? Circe, how horrific must the Pendant be to usurp this dickhead?

“Great,” Harry answered flatly. “Then we’re totally in agreement. I refuse to acknowledge that you’re _my_ equal and we can all just get on with our day. Have a great life.” With that, Harry turned on her heel (her feet now aching with how many times she’s had to spin on them in the stupid shoes) and she strode down the path determinedly back toward the town.

Harry’s not sure why Nagini had insisted in _heels_ if she was supposed to be running away; the things were hardly easy enough to walk in, let alone get a good pace going.

“Don’t walk away from me, slave,” Crown snarled from behind Harry.

“Sorry, can’t hear you,” Harry called out, releasing one side of her dress so that she could wave at him. “Too far away.”

The air in front of Harry shimmered for a moment and then suddenly Crown was _there_ , a step in front of her, and Harry squawked as she ran right into him.

Harry’s hands came up to brace herself against his chest as she tripped into him and his arms wrapped around her, pinning Harry to him. She stared up at him in shock, mouth parted.

“What’s in Weslin?” Crown snapped, eyebrow raised as he looked down his nose at her.

“Weslin?” Harry repeated, surprised. 

“The town?” Riddle mockingly echoed in her questioning tone.

“Did you just freeze time?” Harry asked instead of answering, frowning. She doesn’t need to explain herself to him. 

Crown’s lip twitched, his expression briefly annoyed, before the expression faded away behind an amused mask. “No, I did not _freeze time_. I stepped through space. There’s a very big difference, not that you would understand if I explained it to you.”

“Charming,” Harry said dryly, trying to push him away and completely failing.

“I don’t understand,” Crown said imperiously, looking down at her through his unfairly thick eyelashes. “You are completely uninteresting. Why would the other Horcruxes want to even touch you?”

Harry tilted her head as she threw him an incredulous expression. “You mean like how you’re touching me right now? For being evil incarnate, you lot are very tactile.”

“Incarnate. A big word for an illiterate little girl, hm?” Crown answered softly, eyes narrowing in amusement as Harry flinched.

“What makes you think I can’t read?” Harry snapped back, feeling her hackles rise.

“You passed a sign that said Weslin _twice_ and yet you didn’t know the name of the town. You are either illiterate or completely unobservant, though both could be possible,” Crown said, snorting.

“Even if I _couldn’t_ read, it’s hardly in good taste to mock an illiterate peasant. Now _,_ I _will_ be going, thank you,” Harry replied primly, doing her best impression of a classic Aunt Petunia smackdown as she tugged out of Crown’s arms.

“Harry,” Crown called out, making Harry stop in place, surprised by his soft tone. He lifted his palm and ran it across the air in front of him, as if making a slow wave. Burning characters scorched into the air, rearranging from one pattern to another in a repetitive motion. “If you can read to me what this says, I promise you I’ll leave you alone right now. In fact, I’ll make _all_ the Horcruxes leave you alone.” There was a victorious edge to his voice, as if he had caught her red handed.

Harry looked at Crown in astonishment. Surely, _surely_ someone couldn’t be this cruel, could they? So what if she couldn’t read? It wasn’t exactly like she’d had a lot of opportunities, seeing as _this man_ was the reason that her entire kingdom collapsed into the ruins that it was today. There had been a great education system, a strong community before the Riddle Empire took over. Now, it was all ash.

“You are,” Harry breathed, struggling for words as she was blown away by the audacity of this man. “You are the most singularly cruel, idiotic man I have ever met.”

Even those words didn’t feel sufficient and Harry ploughed on, approaching him with firm steps. Crown’s eyes darkened as he neared but rather than intimidating her, it just made Harry all the more furious.

“You razed my country to the ground,” Harry hissed, “You raided schools, you hung teachers in the streets, you burnt libraries. You completely _decimated_ an entire nation. I find it simply _inconceivable_ that you have the audacity to mock _me_ for being victim to the destruction of your own making.” Harry was spittingly mad now, trembling with how much she wanted to _punch_ him. “I am perfectly _capable_ of learning how to read, but because of your own fucking inability to be a person and your massive seven-headed ego getting in the way, I have lost everything and you have the _balls_ to stand there and ask me to read a fucking sign – ”

Harry cut off as Crown stepped forward abruptly and pressed his lips against hers. Harry immediately shoved him back, snarling, and she slapped him as hard as she could.

The _crack_ that echoed at the edge of the forest didn’t feel satisfying enough, so Harry raised her hand and struck again – a hand came up and caught her wrist before it could make contact. Harry panted in fury as she wretched her hand back, shaking with the fury boiling over inside of her, and she bared her teeth at the man. Despite his head having snapped to the side, Crown’s expression never once changed. The handprint welt on his face was already fading, healing unnaturally fast.

“You will _never_ touch me again,” Harry spat, pushing him so hard he stepped back a few paces. “You inferior waste of space. I don’t know _what_ the fates are playing at, but I reject you with every bone in my body. I hate you. _I hate you_.”

“I can see I struck a nerve,” Crown had the audacity to say, eyes impossibly dark as he watched Harry expressionlessly. “I feel like this may be a bit of an overreaction, but nonetheless I apologise for my rudeness.”

“I don’t give a flying _fuck_ what you feel,” Harry snarled back. “Get the hell out of my sight.”

Crown approached her and Harry stood her ground, baring her teeth at him. Crown reached forward as if to slide his hands around her waist and Harry felt a welling of such rage that she reached forward and shoved him with all of her strength while snarling, “ _Go away!”_

Harry gasped as she felt that odd pressure surrounding her _snap_ at her command and she stumbled as Crown disappeared, his eyes briefly going wide in surprise before he evaporated.

Harry panted softly as she turned on her heels, looking around in every direction. Crown was gone. She had actually wished him away.

“I guess I _do_ know the difference between steeping between space and freezing time, then,” Harry said to no one, a smug grin stealing across her features.

A slow clapping noise sounded from the edge of the forest and Harry turned, expecting to see an amused Nagini. Harry blanched at the sight of _another_ Horcrux ( _when will this end?_ Harry bemoaned internally) leaning against a tree. This was one she hadn’t met yet. Judging by his appearance and the boyishly wicked smile on his face, Harry would guess Pendant.

“ _Mother Goddess,”_ Harry groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “You lot are like a hydra. Cut off one head, two pop up in its place.”

Pendant didn’t move from his position against the tree, hands behind his back in an innocently boyish gesture, that horribly wicked smile stretching across his features. Harry took the moment to observe the Horcrux. He was different than the others in an odd way. There was something strangely… _Wounded_ about him, something the sharp humour lining his features couldn’t hide, a darkness in his eyes that spoke of horrors. He was like a shattered mirror, reflecting in upon himself to infinity.

“Crown has always been an insipid prat,” Pendant said in reply, still not moving away from the tree.

“Truly, I can’t even imagine how anyone puts up with him,” Harry agreed, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. “Well, I’d best be off then. Have a good day.”

Harry curtsied mockingly and then pointedly turned around and nearly stumbled. Harry scowled and she reached down to yank off the heels, throwing them as far as she could one at a time and grinning in satisfaction as they disappeared into a field of tall heather. Now barefoot but able to walk, Harry began the path back to Weslin.

“Where are you going?” Pendant said as he fell into step beside Harry.

Harry watched him out of the corner of her eye, raising an eyebrow. “Weslin,” she replied shortly.

“It’s actually Lemiston,” Pendant said, pointing at the town sign as Harry passed it once more. “Which Crown knew. He’s a right fuckhead.”

For all she knew, the town really was called Weslin and Pendant was screwing with her. Deciding to ignore him rather than engage, Harry sighed, rolling her eyes as she continued walking down the dirt path.

“I want to show you something,” Pendant continued enthusiastically, as if Harry hadn’t just brushed him off. “Let me take you.”

Harry narrowed her eyes at him. “No,” Harry said shortly. She wasn’t going _anywhere_ with the one Nagini had basically described as a sociopathic man-child.

“Oh, don’t be such a bore,” Pendant whined, lacing his fingers with hers and tugging on them.

Harry inhaled sharply at the touch, feeling herself pulled to a stop. Harry turned to Pendant with a frown on her face and felt her heart jump in her chest. Pendant was looking at her with quite possibly the most incredibly _wicked_ expression she had ever seen on a person before. He was the epitome of a sharp, double edged sword – beautiful like Tome and yet where Tome was exasperation and sly amusement, Pendant was freshly spilt blood and sharp teeth. 

“Ah – I don’t think so,” Harry said, shaking her hand to get Pendant’s fingers off hers, to no avail.

“It’s a _lovely_ spot,” Pendant breathed, suddenly sidling up against Harry and wrapping his arms around her. “Hold on.”

Harry hardly had a moment to complain before she felt herself _squeezed_. Harry gaped, her senses going dark – she was blind, the silence oppressive, the gravity crushing and overwhelming and Harry thought her eyes were going to _pop out of her skull –_

Harry inhaled sharply as the world blinked and then she was standing on the edge of an ocean cliff, the wave crashing against the shore and spraying her with chilly seafoam. Harry collapsed against the warm body holding hers, her fingers lacing behind his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder, reeling from the experience and using him as an anchor, grounding herself to the earth.

“Teleporting is quite miserable the first time you try it,” Pendant was saying, the rumble of his voice vibrating against Harry’s cheek where it was pressed against his chest. “Though, to be fair, the experience never does get any better. You just come to expect it.”

Harry moaned in annoyance, untangling herself from the Horcrux and stepping back. Harry gasped in shock at the sight before her – a massive cliff face overlooking the ocean, dark grey skies hanging oppressively as a sea storm exploded with lightning on the far horizon. The stormy ocean waters sprayed up the cliff and misted the air with salt and an unfamiliar scent. Harry watched the ocean with complete amazement.

Harry had never seen the sea before. She had always been trapped inland in her little hometown. It was – it was _exquisite_.

Pendant turned to the sea, gleefully rolling on the balls of his feet. “I supposed you’d never seen the sea before,” he said, grinning at her.

Harry turned to Pendant with wide eyes. “It’s beautiful,” Harry breathed.

Pendant gave Harry an unimpressed look. “It’s a miserable day. Normally, it’s much prettier when it’s sunny.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’s amazing,” she replied, turning back to the water. She felt like she could watch the rolling, frothing waves forever.

“This wasn’t the only thing I wanted to show you,” Pendant said, lacing his fingers through Harry’s once more. Harry hardly noticed, letting herself get tugged to a small path cut into the side of one of the cliffs and leading down to the small, thin beach.

Pendant carefully led Harry down the cliffside, guiding her step. At last, after carefully sidestepping rockslides and reaching the bottom of the cliffside, Harry was led to the small opening of a cave carved into the cliff.

“What is this?” Harry asked, eyes wide. The tide was quite high, lapping at the edge of the cave. The cave’s maw was completely dark, a fathomless pitch black that looked back at Harry eerily.

“The place where it all started,” Pendant said, leading a hesitant Harry toward the cave. Once inside the cave, Harry’s eyes adjusted and she could barely make out the inside of the cave. It was such a dark day outside, already drizzling as it prepared to properly storm, and Harry let Pendant’s expert knowledge of the cave guide her deeper.

At what appeared to be the back wall of the cave, Pendant moved a large rock to reveal a hole in the ground. Pendant shuffled Harry into the hole despite her better judgement and she slid down a good ten feet before reaching the bottom of the hole. A rope in front of her allowed Harry to climb back up the other side of the hole, which appeared to be shaped in a u-bend, and she wiggled up the sheer rockface upward until she emerged out of the hole and into a massive antechamber.

Harry suppressed a scream as her eyes adjusted, stepping back in shock and running directly into Pendant’s chest. Large hands wrapped around her waist and Pendant braced his chin against Harry’s collarbone, pressing the side of his head against her in a mockingly loving touch.

“What – what _is_ this?” Harry stammered, her hands coming up to the forearms wrapped around her waist and digging her nails into the soft flesh.

“This,” Pendant crooned, “Is _me_.”

In the antechamber was a large lake and, within the lake, sat a small island. On top of the small island was a very large wooden cross, upon which the body of a man hung crucified, his body limp and blackened with rot. His rotten, tanned skin spread over his face, in the expression of eternal agony. What was the most terrifying about that decaying being was that it looked _alive_. Its mouth gaped, its body shuddered. Black rivulets of coagulated blood dripped from its maw, slowly contaminating the lake.

It was the soulless carcass of Tom Riddle, held captive by a vengeful demon in the eldritch cave whilst his soul pieces ran across the world, soul shards that wore animated bodies born of inanimate objects.

Speared into the ground at the foot of the man’s shrivelled feet was seven heads on a pike, the victims in varying stages of decay – and yet they shared one expression: horror.

“How – how is this possible? How are you _here_ but not?” Harry stammered, her spine thrumming with shocks of fear as it pressed further into Pendant’s firm chest.

“A long time ago,” Tom whispered against her ear, lacing his fingers through hers and recrossing them over her waist, pulling her impossibly closer as he wrapped around her, “I made a deal with a devil to give him my soul in exchange for eternal life. It granted me my wish. However, when it discovered the prophecy about _you,_ that my soul belonged to another, it stole my body to keep as leverage. It created seven temporary bodies to house the shattered remnants of my soul, creations so vile and inhuman even my own soulmate would shudder away. The demon created them out of the ash of my father, the diary of my childhood, the inherited trinkets of my ancestry, and the body of my own best friend. But I am not naïve, I knew the consequences of failing to uphold my end of the deal, little Harry, and you’re looking at it.”

“You knew this could happen? You let the demon do this to yourself _?_ ” Harry asked, twisting her head to look up at Pendant with horror in her eyes. He was so close, a wicked gleam shining in his eyes and the air choked in Harry’s lungs. “ _Why_? Why would anyone do this?”

“Because nothing has ever mattered, Harry,” Pendant said, his words cold where they breathed against her face. “Except _me_.”

“Why are you showing me this?” Harry asked, a knot of dread growing in her stomach.

“Because I want you to really know who it is that you are Fated to, little princess,” Pendant replied, his voice amused but his eyes dead as they stared down at her dispassionately. “We are the devil and we will eat you alive.”

With that, Pendant pressed a passionately cold kiss against Harry’s lips in a touch that felt less like _hello_ and more alike saying _goodbye_. Harry’s eyes widened at him, that knot of warning in her stomach exploding with terror as the twisted Horcrux pressed against her, his eyes a dark maroon as they burned down at her though a hooded gaze. Then, before she could summon the will to break through her stunned horror, Harry was shoved forward with alarming strength and she tripped into the lake surrounding the island.

Harry screamed as rotting skeletal appendages reached up through the murky waters and she struggled as she tried to pull out of the dozens of hands appearing around her. Harry clawed through the water, watching with wide eyes as Pendant stood at the water’s edge, the rippling of the water too heavy to make out his expression.

Harry opened her mouth to say something, to command the magic she had at her call to get her _out of here_ , but her mouth filled with pungent, rotting water, filling her lungs and weighing her down her. The hands pulled her below the surface and Harry screamed the last of her air out of her lungs as she was dragged down into the lagoon.

* * *

Harry is not sure exactly what had happened. One moment, she was screaming, thrashing, looking up through murky waters at the dispassionate gaze of Pendant as he watched her sink into the rotten lake in the cave as her lungs burned and her gaze faded and then – then –

Harry found herself sitting in a vast greenhouse, perched at the edge of a settee. She was dry, her lungs did not hurt, and one of her fingers was looped through handle of delicate teacup, her other hand supporting the saucer. She blinked at the pretty room. There was gold edging on the architraves, a high ceiling made of green leadlight glass, and a soft shimmery light filtered through the spacious room. There were wide-leafed plants filling every corner of the room, bursting with life. It was humid. Little butterflies flitted Harry by and she watched the little creatures delicately meander from flower to flower, small tongues uncurling to feed from the blossoming life surrounding her.

“Hello, Harry,” a voice said.

Harry turned slowly to look at the being in front of her, sitting in a large armchair. It and its chair had not been there a moment before.

The creature looking at Harry was in the shape of a person, and yet it decidedly was not. Harry struggled to focus on the creature, the image fading in and out. Harry got the odd impression it did not have gender, nor did it have a specific appearance. It looked at Harry with a tilted head, its hands thrumming on the armchair as it waited for her to speak.

“Hello,” Harry said cautiously, setting down the teacup and saucer on the delicate glass coffee table in front of her. “May I ask who you are?”

The creature smiled. Harry smiled back unsurely.

“I am Death,” the creature replied.

“Right,” Harry said simply.

“You are taking this rather well,” Death said.

“I suspected this might be the case, considering I think that I just drowned,” Harry replied, frowning as she tried to remember the events that led her here. For some reason, it felt very far away, as if it were a distant dream that was slipping through her fingers like smoke.

“Yes, you did,” Death affirmed. “Drowning is a rather terrible way to go, so I’ve heard.”

Harry shrugged, lacing her fingers on her lap. “It was unpleasant,” Harry said. She doesn’t remember the specifics of it anymore, but she does remember that.

“Well, we have two options,” Death said, raising its hand to hold up two fingers.

“Go on,” Harry said, sitting back in the settee.

“First, you can move on,” Death said. “I’ll take you to the Otherside myself.”

“Or?” Harry asked. There didn’t seem to be another option readily available.

“Or, the Necromancer can revive you,” Death replied. “The Necromancer has never been able to truly revert death, only summoning a shade. However, if the death is fresh enough, the Necromancer has been known to pull a soul back before they transfer over to the Otherside. In short, I like you, Harry. And I do not like Tom Riddle. I wouldn’t mind putting off this meeting for another time.”

Harry looked at Death as she considered his words. “Those are both very generous offers,” Harry mused, and she really did mean it. Death was quite a bit more reasonable than she had been led to believe. “I guess there are upsides and downsides to both options.”

“True,” Death said. “You could go to the Otherside and leave life to the living. Or you could return to the Living and eradicate the Hunger.”

Harry inhaled sharply. The dozy passiveness that had enveloped her until now washed away as her life came back to her suddenly, a crashing wave of awareness shocking her to her core.

“Pendant drowned me,” Harry breathed, appalled. “He – he _drowned_ me!”

“He always was a vicious little monster,” Death said, waving its hand passively. “That was hardly the first time he’d led someone to that cave just to push them into the waters.”

“If I go back and kiss the Necromancer, will Pendant die?” Harry asked, mouth setting into a firm line.

“Perhaps not immediately. But if you kiss all the Horcruxes, Tom Riddle will be reunited as the demon’s soul-splitting curse will shatter. And if you consummate your soulbond with Tom Riddle, the demon’s claim on Tom Riddle’s soul will be broken and it will be sent back to hell. Thus, eventually, Tom Riddle will die,” Death said, a twinge of victory echoing its words.

“I want to go back,” Harry said, sitting up. “I will fulfil Fate’s mission, unite the soul pieces of Tom Riddle, marry the miserable bastard to destroy the Hunger, and then I am _going to kill him_ ,” Harry said venomously, baring her teeth.

“Well!” Death said enthusiastically, clapping its hands together. “That sounds like quite a plan! Now, brace yourself!”

Harry hardly had a moment to process Death’s words before the floor disappeared beneath her and Harry gasped as she fell through the ground as a massive sinkhole erupted where she sat, the world fading away. At the top of the hole in the ground Harry found herself falling through, Death peered down and waved merrily.

As she fell and the darkness swallowed her whole, Harry opened her mouth – to scream, to curse, to shout, she wasn’t sure – and the only thing that came out was a wounded _oomph!_ as she landed hard on her back.

The world flickered for a moment, Harry gaping as she was winded and her lungs struggled to restart.

Harry was pushed to the side and she coughed up a lungful of water, spluttering as the dark waters of the lagoon spilled out of her lips and spread across the granite floor of the chamber. Harry inhaled sharply and felt hot tears spill out of her eyes as her body struggled to right itself. Harry laid on her back, exhausted, and realised someone was crouched over her.

_Oh mercy, not another one_ , Harry thought miserably. She was cold, soaking wet, and still in the cursed chamber Pendant had brought her to. However, this was not Pendant, who was nowhere to be found.

The man crouched over her looked rather alike all the other Horcruxes amalgamated. Sharp, clever, handsome, careful. Unlike the others, his eyes were fully black. The only colour breaking the obsidian depth of his unnatural eyes was a thin circle of steel grey where his irises should be. His fingers were black as well, growing sooty as the colour faded up his fingers and ended where his wrists began. The touch of Death.

Stone watched Harry with a quiet, solemn intensity. There was a concerned knit to his brows, his lips frowning in displeasure. He reached forward with a black, sooty finger and pressed his thumb against her lips hesitantly, as if worried. Harry watched him with wide eyes, reeling at the tender expression that softened his eyes as he ran a thumb over her bottom lip.

“I can touch you,” Stone whispered in a hushed tone, expression searching. He looked hurt, wounded – as if the entire world had just collapsed at his feet and he was unsure how to deal with it all.

The quiet moment snapped near audibly at his words and Harry scrambled to move away. Before she could move a foot, Stone carefully swept his arms under her knees and behind her back and he lifted her quickly in a bridal hold, standing firmly to his feet. Stone’s hold was strong and she felt the swelling of pressure from before, when Pendant had brought her to this forsaken place. Throwing her arms around the Horcrux to brace herself, Harry crushed her eyes closed as she was teleported away from the hellish cave.

Harry appeared once more in the Riddle Castle in the City of Gaunt, huffing as she was lowered from her bridal hold in front of the King. Stone stepped back quietly, as if to gain distance between himself and Harry.

“You have caused a lot of trouble,” Voldemort said, eyes burning the shade of molten ore.

“Your dickhead Horcrux just drowned me,” Harry snapped hoarsely, annoyed, “Give me a moment, won’t you?” Harry then set to pulling her hair out of her face and trying to right her dress, pointedly not giving Voldemort the time of day.

Voldemort watched Harry with impassive eyes, but there was an edge to him. It was as if he were about to fly into a rage. And yet, Harry didn’t fear him. The rage, strangely, didn’t feel directed at _her_.

“Right, you,” Harry said after she had spent a good half-minute fixing herself up somewhat. Harry pointed at Stone, who stood a metre away. “Come here. Now.”

Harry could see Voldemort’s eyebrows knit together as Stone cautiously stepped forward. Harry pressed her hands against the Horcrux’s cold cheeks and Voldemort stood quickly as she pulled Stone down to press her lips against his.

The world slowed to a near standstill. It was rather like when Harry told time to stop moving – and yet, Stone moved his mouth against her with soft affection, as if Harry were something delicate and precious. Freezing hands wrapped around her back, sliding up and wrapping Harry in his hold. Harry sighed into the kiss, the Horcrux’s fingers pressing against the back of her neck strangely reminding her of her conversation with Death, and she wound her fingers into Stone’s dark locks as she let the Necromancer deepen the kiss.

The creature beneath her hands began to shudder and Harry pulled him closer, ignoring the trembling under her fingertips as she pushed the kiss deeper. Then, as if a great chasm burst open in the fabric of reality, Stone evaporated beneath her fingers.

Harry stumbled back as she watched Voldemort make a horrible choking noise, the man staring down at her with horror. Harry smiled as he fell back in his great throne and writhed, the room filling with ghostly whispers as his Horcruxes were returned to him. Suits of armour in the back of the room collapsed as their forms disintegrated, their bodies breaking down as the Horcruxes dissolved. Voldemort was changing, his form flickering in and out, the return of six pieces of his soul struggling to amalgamate with his body.

Harry decided her work was done for now. She wants a bath, to brush her teeth, have an actual proper meal, and then blessedly _sleep_.

Harry sneered at Voldemort as the man writhed. “Rot in hell,” she told him, sniffing. Turning on her heel, Harry told the air around her, “ _I want to go home.”_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with the idea of Pendant drowning Harry - it's so obscenely dark. But this is a dark fairy tale and nothing, _nothing_ in this story reflects nor resembles a realistic or ideal relationship. Pendant is the worst of the worst of Voldemort, the sadistic little monster. Chapter 5 will explain more and clarify things. See you next week for the final chapter ♡


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty folks, we're at the end! This chapter is where it earns the Explicit rating and I'm fairly new at writing smut scenes so be kind lol. Onward ho!

Harry arrived at the outskirts of the Dursley farm, tripping out of the portal between the Riddle Castle to Little Surrey with a gasp. The darkness consuming her as she travelled between the fabric of space had been cold, dark, suffocating, _lonely_. She hadn’t been able to breathe or see and was on the edge of complete panic when it was suddenly over, hardly a second having passed, and she was tumbling onto the dirt path of her old home. It had been rougher than Pendant and Stone’s teleporting – perhaps it took a bit of practice.

Harry landed on her hands and knees, gasping and coughing. That had been the worst thing she had ever experienced, even if it had only lasted a second – and that included being drowned by rotting corpses.

Once Harry gathered herself, she stood to see that the Dursley farm was completely abandoned. Despite being early spring, the ivy she had tended to her whole life was withered and black. The trees surrounding the property had died, all plant life wilted to nothing. The home had its windows blown out, the thatched roof caved in, the doors ripped off their hinges. It had been decimated.

Harry sighed. She had partially expected something like this, though perhaps not to this extent. Whilst her relatives were on surface level a somewhat successful and competent family, they would have completely fallen apart without a slave, despite Petunia’s constant complaints about Harry.

Harry picked through the house and was pleased to note that her hidden storage of pickled vegetables and dried fruits and meats hidden under the kitchen floorboards had survived whatever hell had befallen the Dursley estate. Harry was also pleased to find that her small room, a cupboard behind the kitchens, had been undamaged, the only sign of damage a large crack in the single windowpane at the top of the wall. The room was covered in dust, untouched. The room’s door was hidden behind a hideous tapestry and was small enough for any marauders to not go looking for it when they scrounged around the house.

Careful to not let herself think, lest she have a total breakdown, Harry made herself a hearty meal. Afterward, she tossed out the unwashed dining set she had used and she gathered enough water from the well to boil and give herself a proper bath.

Harry soaked in the chipped bathtub in the blown-out smithereens of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s bathroom. Harry had never been able to take a bath in their large bathroom before and she sighed around the bubbles. There was still a small piece of Neville’s imported jasmine soap in Harry’s collection of belongings and she allowed herself the indulgence of using a singed, discarded hairbrush. Harry scrubbed her teeth with her small toothbrush in relief, glad to be rid of the taste of lagoon water and wincing at the taste of bicarbonate soda. She chewed the last of her mint leaves to remove the flavour, relishing the feel of a clean mouth.

Harry changed into a dry, clean set of clothes and sighed in relief at the feel of familiar trousers and a loose work shirt. Her shoes were still here too, thank the Goddess. Surprisingly, the fur coat she had lost during the Samhain ritual (and didn’t _that_ feel like a lifetime ago) had been laid out on the bed. Harry doesn’t think for a moment that Aunt Petunia would have done something like this and she imagines that Hermione and Ron probably would have gone looking for her and found only the coat, laying it on her small cot as a tribute.

Harry sits down heavily on the bed. Gods, her friends. The Hunger will still be out there, would be until Harry bonded properly with Tom Riddle. Ever since Harry had started purposefully harnessing her connection to magic, she could feel the world around her more strongly. And, out there in the magical field, she could _feel_ the Hunger, a supermassive black hole on the edge of her consciousness, pulling life and magic to it as it hungrily fed on the world around it.

Putting her dark thoughts to the back of her mind, Harry decided she needed a long and deep sleep. Kissing the pissy pieces of her soulmate, being murdered by a piece of her soulmate, and then brought back from death by another piece had really, seriously, completely taken it out of her.

Harry fell into her cot and wrapped the worn fur coat around her shoulders, immediately falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

Harry sighed as she dreamt she was being kissed, stretching her arms out and holding the warm frame against her closer. It was rather alike the Necromancer’s kiss, or Nagini’s kiss. It was soft, passionate. Affectionate. Loving.

Harry nuzzled her nose against the face pressing against hers, fingers sinking into thick, soft hair as she wrapped around the man. The natural scent of the man filled her senses, something like spices, leather, and a touch of autumn. Harry was warm, so very warm, and she felt herself sigh relaxingly as she felt the man press his chest against hers, laying down against her and holding her as if she were precious.

“Harry,” the man whispered, his dark, smooth voice hoarse and rumbling through his chest against Harry.

“Shh,” Harry told the man, her eyes remaining closed as she pulled him back down for another kiss. Harry really thought that she would be over kisses by now, but there was something _addictive_ about these – they were perfect, lips slotting against one another as a warm tongue slipped into her mouth and made Harry arch against his hard frame.

“ _Harry_ ,” the man pressed and Harry moaned in annoyance, letting him pull away as she blinked blearily. Harry felt her heart stop in her chest, realising this was most certainly _not_ a dream, and she looked up with wide eyes at the sight of Tom Riddle hovering on his forearms over her. 

Somehow, against all odds, Tom Riddle was more handsome than all the horcruxes put together. He was… Soft. Sharp. Wicked. Charming. He could hardly be in his thirties. His grey eyes were flecked with maroon. Harry frowned at the unfairness of it all, that Tom Riddle should be allowed to still be gorgeous. It made sense that he was gorgeous when he was split into seven pieces – a monster needed some kind of lure, after all. But now, Harry could see that he had simply _always_ been gorgeous. Dick.

Tom was somehow squished into Harry’s cot. He gently shifted to lay on his side, the length of his body pressed against Harry’s side as he rested his temple against his palm, elbow sunk into the stiff cot. His back was against the wall, bracing himself.

It gave Harry an out – she could scramble out of the cot, leave the room if she wanted to. Tom Riddle wasn’t boxing her in. He was just staring at her with that enigmatic, dark look that made Harry’s heart skip a beat.

“How are you here, when your body rots in a cave?” Harry asked, breathless.

“I have been the gift of a body by the Fates and have been warned rather firmly not to throw it away again,” Tom said smoothly, gazing down at her through thick eyelashes.

Harry shifted until her back was pressed against the length of his torso, her head back against the hollow of his shoulder. It was easier, to not look at him and yet draw comfort from his touch. Harry could feel how they were fated to one another, could feel herself melting into him, relaxing her instincts, making her feel fuzzy and _right_. If she conveniently forgot everything that had happened, Harry felt like she could doze off again.

Tom wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close and curling around her warmly. _Provided he doesn’t feel compelled to open his mouth, I could get used to this,_ Harry mused dozily.

Unfortunately for Harry, Tom did feel compelled to speak. “This bed is terribly uncomfortable. I don’t like seeing how the muggles made you live,” Tom said suddenly, eyes flickering around the room. Harry frowned at the word – _muggle_ wasn’t exactly insulting, it certainly wasn’t ‘mudblood’, but there was still a note of disapproval in Tom’s voice as mentioned the peasant class.

“And?” Harry asked, eyebrows knitting. “I’m a slave. This is how slaves live.”

“You aren’t a slave, Harry,” Tom replied, turning her face until she was looking over her shoulder at him. “You’re a princess.”

“One can be both,” Harry replied, giving a small roll of her shoulders as she brushed off his words. “I find that slaves are more competent. You wouldn’t believe how flimsy princesses are. Damsels in distress, the lot of them.”

“You were hardly in distress,” Tom replied, eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Speak for yourself,” Harry said, mouth pressing into a firm line. She watched as Tom lifted her left hand into the air, the man pressing his fingers through hers and lacing them.

Tom leant his head against hers, whispering into her ear, “I’ve learned my lesson regarding scorning the Fates, so am going to do this right. Harry, _Hellebore,_ will you marry me?”

Harry cracked an eye, looking at him in her peripheral vision. She could see the tight tension of his jaw, the flash of his grey eyes. He was uncomfortably stiff against her, as if asking her to marry him was the very last thing he wanted to do.

“Well, I don’t know,” Harry answered slowly, wrinkling her nose. “I guess if I must. But I feel like you should probably add in the vows that you promise to not drown me again.”

Tom narrowed his eyes at her, frowning. “That is the least enthusiastic engagement I’ve ever entered, and my last fiancé was a bitchy lesbian.”

“Speaking of Nagini, how is she?” Harry asked, suddenly remembering the woman. Harry pulled away from Tom so she could lay back on the cot, looking up at him with concerned eyes. Gods, Harry hopes Nagini survived the removal of the horcrux.

Tom released a long-suffering sigh, as if she were torturing him, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as if warding off a migraine. “I don’t understand,” Tom said. “I simply can’t comprehend how all the woman in my life are completely insane.”

“Um, excuse you,” Harry said, throwing a glare at him. “Speak for yourself. I’m not the one out there _drowning my soulmate._ If you want me to marry me, the least fucking thing you can do is _apologise_. I will do what the Fates require from me, but I _won’t_ be happy about it. And if you so much as approach me when I’m in or by a body of water, even so much as a puddle, I swear to all the gods that be that _I will fucking castrate you._ ”

At this, Tom looked vaguely ill. “I… Remember what Pendant did,” he said slowly, eyes growing unfocused, words coming out hesitantly. “It is difficult combining nearly twenty years of seven different perspectives. But I remember them all, as if I lived each one concurrently. There is no excuse for what I did to you.”

“There really isn’t, you miserable sodding little wanker,” Harry snapped back, baring her teeth at him.

Tom gave her a soft expression, eyes hooded and lips quirked in thought. “It was strange, being Pendant. I remember being… _Distressed_. That you would fail to unite me. That I would be trapped as Pendant for eternity. Somehow, even though that part of my soul is the… _Darkest_ part of me, the Pendant knew that the Stone Horcrux would not come to you unless you had died. It was a ploy, of sorts.”

“Pendant murdered me to draw in the Necromancer?” Harry asked skeptically. “I somehow doubt that. The little twat seemed too smug.”

“The Pendant piece of my soul is a monster, yes,” Tom agreed, shrugging. “But he is the wildcard. Even _I_ don’t know how that piece of me will react. But I remember it now, clearly. It is difficult to explain. Here, look,” Tom said, his hand carefully drawing up Harry’s chin so she would look him in the eye.

Harry inhaled sharply as Tom’s dark eyes drew her in immediately.

_Pendant shuddering as he wrapped himself further around Harry, sighing against Harry’s lips as pleasure exploded in his mind, flesh buzzing softly where it was pressed against her cold skin. Clenching his jaw and forcing his body to untangle itself from around her, where he wanted to keep her for eternity. Forcing himself to shove her. Watching her trip and stumble into the black lagoon. The normal tingle of pleasure, the rush of power and control, he felt when he murdered someone wasn’t there, there was no reward here. This felt wrong. Harry was his. His his his his._

_Pendant reached out in his mind frantically, watching with clenched teeth as the rotted hands of the lake clasped around her body and drew her into the depths below. Calling to Stone –_ Necromancer, come save her _. Harry seeing through Pendant’s eyes as she sunk, looking at Pendant with wide, betrayed eyes, the image distorting as she screamed, the bubbles breaking the surface. Pendant twitching with the need to save her, pull her out, make her mine mine mine, but he locked his muscles in place. Reaching out again in his mind –_ Necromancer, you have a few minutes, come _now_.

Harry pulled out of Tom’s mind with a gasp, surfacing as he released her.

“You – you knew Stone wouldn’t come, that he figured out Nagini’s plan, that the only time he would come to me was to revive me,” Harry breathed, mouth open and Tom’s thumb pressing against her bottom lip. She reeled with the perspective she had seen, the anger bubbling up in Pendant’s being as he struggled to watch her drown. The _possessiveness._

“The Necromancer sees all those that I have killed,” Tome replied, distant as he continued pressing his thumb over her bottom lip, nail gently scratching the seam of her mouth. “He was torn between the world of the living and the dead. The demon I encountered had created that Horcrux container from an ancient stone gifted by Death to my ancestors. It is called the Resurrection Stone. The Necromancer thought I deserved to remain split; he could see all those that I had harmed as clearly as he could see the living and they haunted him. The only time it would willingly come to you was to save you,” Tom concluded softly, eyes fixed on her lips.

“The Necromancer kissed like the touch of Death,” Harry replied without thinking, taken aback. “It was my favourite kiss. Besides, that doesn’t change the fact that you _drowned me_ in order to save yourself,” Harry scowled, growing annoyed again.

“I drowned you because it was the only way to save you,” Tom said, expression bitter. “The lands are rotting and you have magic stronger than most; the Hunger would have gone after you eventually once it had exhausted the land’s magic. Don’t mistake my _inability to be a person_ ,” Tom whispered, echoing the words she had spat to the Crown Horcrux, “For an inability to love you.”

“You – you don’t _love_ me,” Harry shot back, alarmed.

Tom smiled at her, a strangely soft expression on his dark features. “Harry, I have lived two lifetimes and a quarter of that as seven people. No one has stood up to me the way you have, no one has slipped out of my hands, _no one_ has torn me down. You control magic just by sheer _will_. No one can do that, Harry. I know at a moment’s notice you could teleport away, could teleport _me_ away. You’ll never let me take advantage. I’d rather live a short life making you mine than live an eternity without you.”

“You hate me,” Harry shot back, eyes narrowing, ignoring the clenching of her stomach and heart as Tom softly laughed, his thumb never once stopping its gentle press against her bottom lip as he stared at her.

“I used to think it was hate,” Tom said, tone smooth and dark. “When I look at you, I feel like I could shatter into a million pieces. And I _did_ , the first time I saw you, when you were a little girl holding my entire life in your hands. I had hated you, hated the idea of you, but when I saw you in that castle the day I stormed the Potter Castle, I couldn’t hurt you. I stood there like an _idiot_ until Dumbledore stole you away and, before I could chase, the demon caught up with me. I shattered and it took twenty years and your tenaciousness to put me back together again,” Tom whispered softly, as if reciting a prayer. “I hated you because you held everything in your hands. My life, my heart, my will. And I was an idiot for thinking for a moment that I wouldn’t chase the ends of the earth for you.”

Harry stared at Tom with wide eyes, taken back by his words. “Death – but Death will come for you,” she said. “You’ll die. Isn’t that something you’ve been running from for your entire life?”

“I have spent a hundred years undead,” Tom answered, shoulder rolling in a shrug. “You saw the portal to hell I had built in the cave, to summon the demon and give myself eternal life. Besides, you are Death’s favourite,” Tom added, as if amused by such a thought. “I have spent a hundred years running away from Death and now I willingly hold its Master in my arms.”

Nagini’s words echoed in the back of Harry’s mind. _I wouldn’t mind falling in love and living a mortal life, rather than be trapped as a miserable immortal._ _When I was young, I would never have thought I’d say such a sappy thing. But time and age have given me perspective. Somehow, I think Tom would feel the same way by now._

"Why do I have the feeling that you're turning sides just because you can see the tide rising on mine?" Harry asked dryly.

"A rising tide lifts all boats, Harry," Tom replied, eyebrow arching as he gazed at her. "Beside, I am not choosing the winning side. I am choosing my soulmate's side. And I will have you."

“Not for long,” Harry said, ignoring the darkening expression on Tom’s face at her words, “The Hunger will eat us all.”

“The Hunger will,” Tom conceded, eyes glittering wickedly. “Unless, of course, we bond. I suppose the bonding magic should be strong enough to eradicate the beast.”

Harry felt herself blush under the weight of his stare. “You suppose, do you?” She asked haughtily. “And how do you _suppose_ we go about ‘ _bonding_?”

“I have a few ideas,” Tom said slyly, awfully smug. He slipped down in the bed until he was pinning her down, his mouth hovering over hers as he gave Harry a devastatingly handsome smirk.

“Before we do any of your _ideas_ ,” Harry said, frowning at Tom as she thought. “We have one thing left to do.”

“What?” Tom asked, running his nose up the length of Harry’s neck, making Harry close one of her eyes to stop the double vision caused by his touch and try to concentrate on the task ahead.

“You’ll see,” Harry said, using all her strength to roll them over and get out of the bed.

* * *

Harry stood in front of the gaping maw of the Eldritch Cave with Tom Riddle by her side. The man had been tense from the moment Harry had magicked them there, his shadowed eyes looking deep into the fathomless darkness. The sky, as always, was dark and stormy. Harry knows now why it is never sunny here; the stench of the black magic affects everything in its vicinity.

“Destroy it,” Harry said, looking at Tom. Harry pressed one of her hands into Tom’s, fingers lacing between cold joints. “Send it back from where it came.”

“My tie to the demon is my final protection from death,” Tom said, seemingly trapped as he gazed into the abyss. “You do not understand what I had to do to tie myself to this plane.”

“I’ve seen it, you know I have. Nothing of value can have come from a portal to Hell like that,” Harry replied, tightening her grip. “I will not share your soul. You said a lot of sweet nothings to me today and now it is your moment to prove that you meant what you said. It is _that_ or it is me. Choose.”

Tom’s eyes flickered to Harry slowly, as if it were a great difficulty to look away. Harry saw the monsters hiding in Tom’s grey eyes, the flicker of red. The deal with the devil, to keep him alive for two lifetimes and more.

“You,” Tom said, voice breaking over the single syllable.

Harry ignored the flutter in her stomach, the suddenly overwhelming need to rise up onto her toes and press a kiss against his pale lips. She crushed the feelings and nodded at the cave. “Good. Tear it down, Tom,” Harry said firmly.

Tom turned to the entrance of the cave, raising his hand. His pale fingers trembled slightly in the cold, howling wind. Tom gritted his teeth, brow furrowing, and the cave _screamed._

Harry watched as the cave began to collapse in upon itself, black whispers of darkness exploding from the cave like a frothing curse. From the maw of the great cavernous opening, the blackened body of Tom Riddle emerged, not daring to cross the threshold of the cave as it stared at Tom and Harry, its eyes glowing hellfire-red. It reached out with a clawed hand, as if to curse Tom, and Harry quickly stood in the monster’s path.

“ _Go back to hell_ ,” Harry told it firmly, brooking no room for argument. “ _You are not wanted here anymore. He is_ mine. _”_

The withered husk holding the demon shuddered and collapsed in upon itself as it turned to ash, the demon banished, and the Eldritch Cave trembled as it followed suit.

“You stood in front of it,” Tom breathed.

Harry turned to look at Tom. He looked… Devastated. Ruined. No – that was not right. He looked _human_. Harry reached out to him and laid her hands on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart and looking up at his eyes, searching for a hint of red. His hair was ruffled, his brow knitted, his bottom lip red from where he had bitten down in it.

“You told off a _demon_ , Harry,” Tom added, as if equally impressed and exasperated. His arms wrapped around Harry’s waist, pulling her in close until they were pressed flush. “You challenged it for me.”

“It was throwing a tantrum,” Harry said, shrugging, giving Tom her best cheeky smile. “Besides, it knows your soul is mine. It was fighting a losing battle.”

Tom dipped his head to stare at her with smouldering eyes, taking her breath away. “I’ll ask one more time. Marry me, Hellebore,” Tom whispered against her lips, staring her down.

Harry felt her heart clench at the words, her breathing suddenly shallow. Even though some part of her hated the name Hellebore, it made her feel faint hearing the softly drawled name whispered to her reverently. She saw all the horcruxes in Tom in that instant – the lost boy, the passion, the hunter, the genius, the historian, the soldier, the king. And he was offering himself to her, as if _she_ were the demon, a creature that could own and love his soul for eternity.

“Only if you stop calling Hellebore,” Harry countered, raising a brow.

“Is that a yes?” Tom replied smoothly, that devilish smirk starting to spread across his features.

“Yes, alright,” Harry sighed, rolling her eyes. “I will marry you, you absurd man. Now – ” Harry yelped as Tom’s eyes flashed at her words and he grabbed her tight, teleporting them away from the ruins of the Eldritch Cave.

* * *

A small body barrelled into Harry’s frame and she laughed _“Nagini!”_ as she wrapped her arms around the smaller woman.

“Oh, sweet mercy, you’re alright,” Nagini sighed against Harry, pushing the younger woman back and holding her shoulders as she raked her eyes down Harry’s frame.

“I’m glad _you’re_ alright – you are, right?” Harry pressed, biting her lip as she looked Nagini up and down as well.

“Of course I am,” Nagini sniffed. “It takes more than the splitting of a soul to take me down.”

Harry grinned at the woman, her heart squeezing contentedly.

“Um, Harry,” a small voice said from the back of the room, awkwardly breaking the warm reunion.

“Oh, shite, sorry,” Harry replied, pulling out of Nagini’s arms to approach Hermione and yank her towards the centre of the room. Hermione’s brown eyes were wide as she was tugged toward Nagini, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “This is my best friend, Hermione,” Harry told Nagini with a grin.

One of Nagini’s eyebrows cocked as she looked Hermione up and down, a sudden edge in her eye surprising Harry with its intensity.

“Hello, I’m Nagini,” the snake-woman greeted sweetly, holding out a hand to shake as she eyed the brown-haired girl.

Hermione unsurely slipped her fingers into Nagini’s outstretched hand and she stammered, “P-pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, darling,” Nagini practically _purred_.

_Oh,_ Harry thought in surprise, watching Hermione light up pink and Nagini leer at the younger woman with a smirk.

Harry smiled as she watched Hermione finally release Nagini’s hand and she winked at her brunette friend as Nagini turned and guided them down the castle hallways, giving them a tour of the estate. Hermione blushed harder and slapped Harry on the shoulder, turning her nose up and pointedly ignoring Harry’s knowing grin.

* * *

Harry frowned as she stared at the double doors in front of her. They were mammoth-sized things, at least twenty feet tall. The wood was rough from age, protective runes carefully etched into the architrave. Harry felt a ball of worry settle in her stomach as she examined the door, her nerves wound tight.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Hermione said, pulling Harry’s attention away from the closed door.

Harry and Hermione were standing in the foyer outside of the Great Hall of the Riddle Castle. There was an excessive display of lavish bouquets of flowers from her homeland sitting on tall plinths surrounding them and leading down the hall on either side, filling the air with a comforting reminder of home. Garlands of ferns hung on the walls, lit by the soft light of small woodland fairies nestling in the large fronds. Soft sheer streaming fabric hung from the ceiling, tying off on the walls and giving the impression of being within a warmly lit tent. Harry stared at the decorations around her, feeling strangely disconnected. If it were even half as beautiful in the Great Hall as it was out here in the corridor, Harry’s not sure if she’ll be able to cope.

“Did you hear me?” Hermione pressed, eyebrows knit together in worry.

Harry turned to her friend with a soft smile, eyes crinkling and taking Hermione’s hands in hers. Hermione was dressed in a stunning seafoam blue dress, simple and tasteful. It was rather unlike Harry’s intricate, lace and beaded white dress that she had found herself squeezed into by a gleeful Nagini, the long train behind her awkwardly tugging at her waist. The only part of the ensemble she wore that Harry actually liked was the heavy nymph veil, found on her nightstand that morning when she awoke in her room and presumably left by Mother. It was a woven band of heavy roses and sprigs of baby’s breath, the handwoven nymph fabric nearly opaque in its thick quality and spilling over her face, hiding her features from sight.

Harry had been given an entire suite to herself, the same room she had been brought to on her first visit to the Riddle Castle, and Hermione shared her rooms in the leadup to today. Tom and Nagini were on the other side of the castle, unseen by Harry since three days ago when Tom brought her to the castle after the destruction of the cave. He had promptly disappeared. Harry had felt ungrounded at first but Nagini’s cheeky grin and Hermione’s arrival upon summoning had soothed her worries.

Harry gazed at Hermione, who she knew couldn’t see her clearly behind the veil, and she sighed deeply.

“I want to,” Harry said at last. And it was true. There of course was an obligation to marry Tom Riddle now, a need to fulfil her destiny as well as save her people. And yet, despite knowing all that, Harry also knows she could walk away. Could find another way, another path. But she _doesn’t_ want to leave. This… Feels right.

“Do you promise?” Hermione said, frowning as she squeezed Harry’s hands.

“Yeah,” Harry laughed, suddenly feeling lighter. _She_ _wants this_. There’s something freeing at the epiphany.

“Well, then it’s time to go in,” Hermione said, surreptitiously wiping a loose tear away and smiling at Harry with watery affection.

Harry wound her arm through Hermione’s outstretched arm and she leant her head against her best friend’s shoulder.

“This is all crazy, isn’t it?” Harry asked as the doors to the Great Hall began to open.

“Totally nuts,” Hermione agreed in good humour.

Harry tuned out the sound of the music changing as she walked down the wedding aisle, her feet blissfully comfortable in soft satin slippers rather than horrendous heels, and she could hardly pay attention to the sight of her friends sitting in the front left pews nor the hundreds of others filling the room. At the very end of the long walk was a large dais, a massive stained class window casting warm light through the massive hall. Harry’s eyes immediately found Tom, who stared at her with an indescribable expression.

Harry felt her breath stall in her lungs, her vision tunnelling at the sight of him. Nagini stood by her side, in a stunning dress of her kingdom, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Tom. He was dressed in a formal suit, hair coiffed gently away from his face, stance upright and tall. His grey eyes _burned_ as they stared at her, jawline defined and the hint of a smirk quirking his lips.

Before she knew it, Harry found herself walking up the small steps to the stage and she was placed in front of Tom by a guiding Hermione, who stood off to Harry’s right. Harry stared at Tom with wide eyes, knowing he could only barely make out her features from behind the veil and feeling comforted that he couldn’t see the welling of tears in her eyes.

There was something magical in the air, something that felt like pressure and yet relief, as if the magic filling the Great Hall was waiting with bated breath.

A priestess stepped forward and guided Harry’s wrists until her hands were held in the air, palms up. Tom mirrored the action and the priestess spoke, the words washing over Harry as she stared up at Tom. A thin band of glowing gold magic wove from the priestess’ hands, wrapping like a snake around Harry’s wrists and then curling around Tom’s.

“As is custom between marrying the heirs of two kingdoms, we seal this union with an Unbreakable Vow,” the Priestess said, her soft words somehow carrying through the hall and filling it effortlessly. “Do you, Hellebore Potter, vow to serve and protect your people as one, to cherish and adore one another, to remain faithful to your King for as long as you live?”

Harry was vaguely aware she was being asked a question and she breathed, _‘Yes_ ,’ only half-aware she was not even speaking English.

At Tom’s nod at the priestess’ inquisitive glance, she continued.

“And do you, Thomas Marvolo Riddle, vow to serve and protect your people as one, to cherish and adore one another, to remain faithful to your Queen for as long as you live?”

“For eternity,” Tom vowed, giving Harry a smile so sharp she felt her knees weaken.

“This union has been blessed by the Fates,” the Priestess continued, pulling on the golden thread until Harry felt her fingers lace through Tom’s, binding them together. “I declare your souls bound. You can now seal the bonding by kissing your Queen, my King,” the Priestess added, giving the two a soft look.

The golden thread binding their wrists sunk into their skin, disappearing from sight but the weight ever-present. Harry inhaled sharply as Tom gently flipped the edge of her veil over her head and she smiled at him cheekily.

Tom smirked back for a second and then he was wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in tight, his lips descending on hers gently. Harry _felt_ her soul, felt it reach out through their bond and press against his, the darkness inside him curling up and pressing against her gently. It was perfectly balanced, the darkness in him and the lightness in her, melding together until all she could feel was a piercing light breaking through and filling the hall.

“You married me,” Tom breathed against Harry’s lips in astonishment, pressing soft kisses against her.

“ _You_ married _me_ ,” Harry retorted, gently biting his bottom lip and cracking her eyes open to peer at his blissful expression. “And I’m going to terrorise you for the rest of your life.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Tom replied, lips quirking. “There’s usually a celebration of sorts after this, but I can’t wait another moment.”

“What do you – ” Harry began to ask softly, confused, and she cut off with a gasp as Tom reached down and scooped her into a bridal hold, throwing her arms around him in surprise to steady herself.

“We’re leaving, don’t cause too much trouble,” Tom stated to Nagini, who winked at them both.

Tom turned to address the hall of people, who Harry had completely forgotten had existed and buried her face in the fabric around his neck to hide her blush. She was suddenly aware of the polite applause filling the room, feeling foolish for having gotten so caught up in the moment.

“Nagini’s my second in command and will be in charge until my return,” Tom announced and then, before Harry had a moment to question what on Earth he was doing, Tom vanished them away.

* * *

Harry inhaled sharply as she was shoved against a wall, laughing as lips pressed against her neck and closing her eyes in soft pleasure. She reeled at the feeling of Tom’s lips nipping up the column of her neck as nimble fingers gently pulled the veil off her head, the buttons of her dress coming undone as if by magic and the heavy fabric pooling to the floor. She felt herself blush as her heavy dress was discarded to reveal her white camisole and tight satin shorts underneath, a growling purr pressed against her neck as Tom nipped the underside of her jaw.

“You work quickly,” Harry laughed, pressing her head back against the wall with closed eyes as she sighed blissfully, her own fingers working quickly to unbutton Tom’s coat and pull it off him unceremoniously.

“Not quickly enough,” Tom countered, pulling her away from the wall and shoving her.

Harry inhaled sharply as she felt herself fall back into a bed, soft furs surrounding her and warming her cold skin. Tom followed immediately, weighing her into the bed with his frame and pressing sharp, nipping kisses down her neck. Harry felt strong hands wrap around her wrists, pinning them on either side of her head, and she gasped through an arch as Tom settled himself between her legs.

“Are – are we in the hunting cabin?” Harry asked, breathless, as Tom yanked her hands above her head to pin them with one hand and begin unbuttoning her blouse with the other.

“If you’re not paying attention to what’s happening right now, I’m not doing this right,” Tom answered dryly, lifting his head from where he was bruising her collarbone with his mouth to give her a narrow eyed stare.

“This hasn’t changed a bit,” Harry said in surprise as she craned her neck to look around the hunting cabin. Her ritual dress was still hung over the armchair, the fire still happily crackling over the same log it had all those weeks ago. Her antler crown was still sitting on the ground by the bed. And the bed – goddess, it was still as soft and as inviting as it ever had been.

Tom sighed and rolled them over, making Harry squeak in surprise, and they settled with Tom laying under her, head propped on the pillows with a hand tucked under his head. Harry shifted where she sat on his stomach with her hands bracing herself on his chest. There was a hard weight pressing against her bum and Harry blushed as she settled herself.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Harry asked haughtily as she jutted her chin, digging her knees into the bed on either side of his hips.

Tom gave her quite possibly the most devastatingly wicked smirk she’d ever seen (and she had been exposed to a rather large arsenal of smirks the last couple weeks) and he reached out to pull her forward until she was pressed against the length of his chest and kissing him softly. Harry watched Tom with surprised eyes and melted into his touch. He was warm, soft, guiding – Harry sighed against his lips as he swiped a tongue against her bottom lip.

Tom grinned into her as she wove fingers into his loose shirt and began to pull at it, wanting it off.

“Shut up,” Harry muttered against his mouth.

“I haven’t said anything,” Tom answered back, nipping at her lips as he shifted to sit up and pull off his shirt.

“Seriously, shut up,” Harry complained, pushing Tom back down and running her hands down his defined chest. He was… Perfect. Beautiful. _He looks rather good like this_ , Harry mused as she looked down at him with a raised brow. He had discarded that annoyingly handsome loose shirt but was still tightly wrapped in those tight black trousers, heavy riding boots encasing his calves up to his knees.

“If you’ve gaped at me enough,” Tom said, eyes hooded as he looked at her with a look sultry enough to make Harry’s mind melt just a bit. “I’d really rather you come join me.”

Harry rolled her eyes, looking to the heavens for help. “Gods, you are just _such_ a wanker,” Harry complained. But she still lowered herself to kiss him, because really – there was no way she wasn’t going to.

As soon as Harry leant back over him, Tom reached up and flipped them, burying Harry into the soft sheets and fur throws. Harry squawked, surprised, and melted into a moan when his lips were back on her, his warm frame pressing into her. Harry dug her nails into his shoulders as large hands began wandering down her torso, a firm thumb pressing against her breast.

“Harry,” Tom whispered, the word spoken in a hoarse baritone and rumbling through his chest against Harry.

Harry couldn’t answer, her eyes slipping closed as she pulled him back down for another kiss, her stomach clenching in need and her skin breaking out in tingles where Tom was pressed against her.

Harry could barely think as those stupidly strong hands tugged her shirt up and over her head, sinking back into the bed with a satisfied purr. Tom carefully slipped her thin brassiere off her shoulders, teeth scrapping against the thin flesh of her neck before he dragged his teeth against the crook of her neck. Harry yelped as Tom’s mouth, hot and sharp, descended onto a nipple and she arched against him, legs hooking over the rippling muscle of his thighs as he ground his erection down into her.

“Ah,” Harry panted, trying to gather her thoughts as Tom gently tugged her nipple with sharp teeth, rolling her other between a thumb and forefinger. “You need to – _Circe –_ take your trousers off, _now.”_

Tom licked a broad stripe up her neck and Harry sighed as she ran her fingers down the well-defined muscles of his chest, nails lightly dragging down to his firm stomach, muscles rippling under her hands. Tom pressed back into her lips, tongue running against the top of her mouth and tangling with her own tongue and making Harry feel like she was both floating and sinking.

Harry reeled with how her entire soul _sang_ , her scar tingling pleasantly and her chest fluttering in her heart. The kiss was all the horcruxes combined – sweet and soft, controlling and dominating yet pliant, mind meltingly _hot_. Harry kissed back with everything she could, slipping her arms around his neck and moaning in satisfaction when strong hands slipped under her thighs and pressed them higher, guiding her to wrap her legs around his hips. Tom rocked against her, his erection pressing through his pants and grinding against Harry with such firmness that Harry whined into the kiss, suddenly needing _more_.

“F- _fuck_ ,” Harry breathed, biting on Tom’s plush bottom lip softly. She was reeling, unsure of what it was that she wanted but needing more more _more_ and _now._ Her stomach was on fire, her mind melting under his touches, her toes curling as he pressed another kiss against her.

“Soon, but I’m not done with you yet,” Tom whispered, self-satisfied and too smug for Harry to bear. She pinched one of his nipples in punishment and her eyes widened as he hissed against her, his chest rumbling the baritone purr into her and making Harry feel rather weak in the joints. 

“I’m remembering that,” Harry warned as Tom pulled away, blinking at him as a wave of arousal crashed through her. There was something about making Tom lose control that burnt through Harry, made her want to _destroy him_.

Tom didn’t reply, but gave her such a smouldering look that Harry nearly died on the spot, the man slipping down the bed as he pressed kisses against her breasts, her fluttering stomach, and stopping at the low-riding hem of her silk shorts.

Tom pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the sensitive flesh of her lower stomach and Harry propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at him with wide eyes. “What on earth on are you doing?” 

“Fulfilling the Chalice Horcrux’s promise to you,” Tom replied, unbuttoning her trousers slowly.

Harry felt blood rush to her cheeks. “You – _what?”_ She asked, alarmed. Suddenly, Harry found herself overwhelming grateful for the three Fates who had waxed her not long ago – Harry never thought she would, but the darkness in Tom’s eyes as he slowly tugged her pants down made her feel weak.

“Harry, do me a favour and hold on, yes?” Tom asked, tone amused as he yanked her pants and knickers down with a final flourish and threw them over the side of the bed, exposing Harry as she blushed furiously. Tom guided her hands into his hair, looking up her rather smugly for someone between her thighs.

“Hold on?” Harry asked as she felt her elbows pulled from under her, falling back onto the bed as Tom guided her hands so they buried in his soft locks. “What the fuck do you – _oh my god,_ ” Harry gasped as lips descended on her and she writhed, yanking on the black locks under her fingers as she pulled him off her. “ _Stop_.”

Tom immediately froze. Harry hadn’t called on her magic for the command, her mind not willing him to actually stop but rather slow down. She nearly cried from the overwhelming contradictory instincts burning in her; she wanted him to continue, but she wasn’t sure if she would shatter if he did.

“Painful?” Tom asked softly, not moving, his breath somehow making her ache as he hovered over her.

“Just – sensitive. Please, slowly, have mercy,” Harry panted, nearly jumping off the bed as Tom reached down and flattening his tongue against her. He guided her thighs over his shoulders, nose gently nuzzling against her as he parted her lips to slip his tongue against her.

“I – I can’t,” Harry cried out, clenching her eyes as her body arched under his touch, nearly yanking his hair out between her fingers.

“It’s alright, Harry,” Tom whispered against her, inhaling deeply and gently biting her. “Tell me to stop when it is too much.”

Harry clung on for dear life as Tom carefully, _methodically_ , took her apart. Harry felt like the world was reeling under her, eyes clenching as she gripped his hair, heels digging into his back as a hot tongue slipped into her and a teasing finger followed.

“I’m going to – ” Harry hissed, teeth gritted as she flexed under his touch, “Circe _, Tom_ , _please._ ”

Harry could feel an evil grin pressed into her and she nearly tore his hair out as he hummed into her deeply, mouth not even pausing as he licked his way into her, riding her over the edge and into crashing oblivion.

Harry was fairly sure she blacked out for a brief interlude, because one moment she had an overly smug Tom licking into her, and the next he was undressed, pressed up against her body as she trembled. He gently kissed her, making her nose wrinkle at the taste of herself on his lips, and he laughed gently into her mouth.

“That was,” Harry mumbled against his lips, suddenly exhausted. “That was _evil_. How did you even?” She asked, disjointed. “I can’t feel my limbs.”

“You are so sweet,” Tom whispered against her, “I could stay down there for eternity.”

“You’ll be the death of me,” Harry replied dozily, “The actual death of me.”

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Tom was then saying, making Harry’s sleepiness recede rather quickly, and she looked at him with wide eyes as he settled between her legs. Harry gaped at the sight of his heavy, thick cock lined up at her entrance, harder than she thought possible.

The sight was so atrociously filthy that Harry found herself reeling with the arousal that crashed back into her tired frame.

“Harry, look at me,” Tom whispered, using his nose to nudge her. Harry stared at him with wide eyes, Tom lacing their fingers together on either side of her head, and he pressed an impossibly soft kiss against her lips.

“The death of me,” Harry repeated quietly, burying her face into the crook of his neck as he guided himself inside her. Harry clenched her teeth down on the soft flesh of Tom’s neck, spasming as her oversensitive muscles fluttered around the thick cock pushing its way into her.

Tom groaned against her, face pressing into her hair, as he slowly sheathed himself, his elbows bracing on either side of her head and muscled forearms bracketing her in.

Harry found herself, for once, actually speechless. She couldn’t even come up with a coherent thought, her body aching around the thick column of flesh buried inside her, uncomfortably filling her and yet somehow just being filled was _not enough_. It hurt, though, in a deeply aching sort of way, but it felt right. She breathed through her nose in short pants, her thighs clenching around him as she adjusted.

“Gods, you are fucking _perfect_ ,” Tom hissed, hips pressing against her hard enough to bruise as he bottomed out. “ _Fuck, Hellebore.”_ There was a beat of inaction, as Harry adjusted to the feeling inside and Tom tensed against her.

“If you don’t move,” Harry said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the teeth marks she had bitten into Tom’s neck, positively _panting_ with need, “I will actually fucking kill you.”

Tom grinned against her and he pulled out slowly, making Harry gasp at the slow drag. Tom hesitated just at her entrance, the head of his cock pulsing, and then he gently rocked back in. Harry arched, crying out in surprise. It was devastatingly good, making Harry feel like she was falling over the edge all over again. Tom continued gently working into her, biting the skin under her jaw, clenching his hands into hers as Harry fell apart.

“Your soul is mine,” Tom whispered against her ear, “And I will cherish you, adore you, _ruin you_.”

“Tom,” Harry warned, voice breaking as she pressed up, trying to match his movement.

It was too much. There was a building weight in her chest, the air thrumming around them heavily, her scar twinging as the pressure continued to climb. Harry whined, long and slow, and she pulled her hands out of his to hook her arms around his neck. Tom’s hands wrapped around her hips as he canted them _just so_ and she gasped as her vision trembled, the world falling as Tom’s pace began to increase, frantic. Harry felt one of her legs pulled from around his waist and her knee thrown over his shoulder, the angle devastating.

Harry whined as the building crest of pleasure peaked, nails dragging down the rippling muscle of Tom’s back as she climaxed, tipping over the ledge and into oblivion. Tom growled as she clenched around him and he thrust in one last time, holding her close enough to bruise, and he sunk his teeth into the crook of her neck as he followed her over the edge. 

Harry felt Tom collapse against her body, her mind too hazy to will herself to untangle her limbs. Tom held onto her, breathing in the scent of her hair, making Harry sleepily turn to him and press a chaste kiss against his temple.

“The magic,” Tom was saying softly, reverently, but Harry was too far gone to pay attention. She fell asleep with her arms wrapped around Tom, still buried inside her, her mind reeling with pleasure and deeply purring satisfaction.

* * *

Harry slowly awoke on the bed, her limbs heavy and mind sated. It felt as if she had just eaten a large meal and had taken a long overdue nap, her mind slowly surfacing from the sweet, dreamless darkness. Every part of her was sore, but it was a good, deep-seated ache. Harry moaned as she turned over onto her stomach, nestling into the soft furs with a sigh. Something was wet between her thighs, making her feel vaguely sticky and somewhat gross, but Harry decided to ignore it in favour of burying herself further into the bed.

Goddess, she had dreamt about sleeping in this bed ever since she left it all that time ago. It was plush, perfect, warm. Harry had never slept in a bed like this before and she never wanted to leave.

Harry felt a warm body slide up against her, the kiss pressed into the nape of her neck making her sigh as her body somehow managed to relax further.

Harry squeaked as she was rolled, Tom pulling her over him, and she blearily blinked at him as she was seated on his firm stomach. Harry looked down at him as she braced her hands against his chest, a thick, firm weight resting against her back suggestively as she leaned against his propped knees.

“You are insatiable,” Harry muttered, closing one sleepy eye as she peered at him.

“Do me a favour,” Tom said, giving her that wicked slanted smirk.

“What?” Harry asked, brain still struggling to wake up from her deep rest.

“Wear this for me,” Tom replied, slipping the antler headdress on her head. Harry felt the sleepiness evaporate almost immediately, eyes widening as the headdress somehow fused to her head. Harry lifted her hands up to her head and she narrowed her eyes at him as she felt around the base of the antlers. They felt like they had joined to her skull; despite their size, it was surprisingly light.

“You are a very strange man,” Harry snorted, ignoring the rush of arousal at Tom’s dark expression, his pupils dilating as he raked his eyes down her form.

Harry blushed, realising she was completely bare, and she folded her arms across her chest petulantly.

Tom rolled his eyes and unwound her arms, guiding her hands up his chest until she was kneeling over him, his erection pressing against her entrance and making Harry’s breath stutter in her lungs.

“I don’t – I don’t know how to,” Harry began to say, blushing, but Tom guided her lips down to her until she was kissing him softly.

“Do whatever you want,” Tom hummed against her, hooded eyes watching her appreciatively as she unsurely sat back.

Harry inhaled sharply as he guided himself into her, her sore muscles protesting and yet burning with satisfaction as she seated herself on him. Harry rolled her hips, unsure, and Tom’s head dropped back against the pillows as he moaned appreciatively, nails digging into her hips as he bucked his hips up into her, making her sink down further onto him as her knees nearly came off the bed.

“I think it’s my turn to say hold on,” Harry said, suddenly chipper as she realised the power she held over him. Tom had barely given her an annoyed look before Harry rolled her hips again, experimenting with the pace as his eyes fluttered closed and she grinned as she rode him, nails digging into his chest and smirking in satisfied pleasure as she rocked, slowly bringing them to the edge.

Tom bared his teeth at her, stealing Harry’s breath with how stunning he was. In a flash, he had them flipped, Harry’s chest pressing into the bed as Tom yanked her arse into the air, knees spread as she braced herself, as he mounted her and drove in hard. Harry cried out, digging her nails into the ruined sheets, whispering filthy words of encouragement as Tom growled. The pace he set was brutal, animalistic, made colours explode in Harry’s vision and she reeled as she spread her legs and urged him on.

Harry reached behind and sunk her hand into Tom’s hair, twisting until she could pressing a kiss into him as he pounded into her ferociously and he moaned, hips stuttering as his body clenched. One of his hands slipped down and a firm thumb pressed against that small nub between her legs that made Harry see stars and then she was crashing over the edge again, crying out against his mouth as she tensed and arched into his hold, clenching like a vice around him.

Tom groaned in reply, slamming back into her with a final push and he gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, falling over the edge with her. Harry felt tears slip down her face, overstimulated and reeling with the sensations ripping through her, her body singing out as Tom sunk his teeth into her shoulder once more and she laughed in victory.

* * *

After what Harry was fairly sure was approximately three days of debauchery, having her world completely obliterated by Tom’s evilness (of which Harry could hardly get enough of, to her own consternation), Harry realised she needed to seek out her friends. Much to Tom’s displeasure, of course, at the thought of letting her out of the cabin. Harry was more sore than she thought possible, muscles she hadn’t even known _existed_ protesting.

“They’ll be fine,” Tom muttered from deep within the bed, lost in the layers of quilts and furs.

“They’re not fine,” Harry snipped back, emerging from the cabin bathroom. There was _running water_ coming out of a spout over the tub, somehow always blissfully warm. Harry had spent nearly half a day in that tub and Tom had joined her a couple times, as if jealous by the attention she gave the relaxing waters. Harry had rather liked that too, to be honest.

“This is a faerie circle,” Tom said, exasperatedly lifting his head from the bed and giving her a one eyed glare. Harry admired the view of his back, the linen sheets hung low on his hips. “Time moves differently here.”

“Yes,” Harry countered, sending him an exasperated look as she struggled into her trousers and blouse, “Last time I was in here for a week, four months passed by.”

“The time works the way I want it to,” Tom replied, dropping back into the sheets. “It’s been nearly a week here, but hardly a day in the real world.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Harry said, hands on her hips as she frowned down at him. “And stupid. Get up.”

Tom lifted his head once more and eyed her. Thankfully, the stupid antler headdress he’d put on her had fallen off again after a day – and Harry had needed to hide the damn thing to keep it away from his weird fetishes. Not that Harry didn’t like the antler headdress; she did, but it was wildly inconvenient when she was being bent over and pressed into a mattress.

“Get in bed,” Tom countered, his expression growing wicked.

“No, you get _up_ ,” Harry stated firmly. Harry squawked as Tom lashed out like a striking viper, his hands wrapping around her waist and pulling her back into the bed.

“If you’re away for too long, Nagini’s going to take over and make Hermione her bride,” Harry said, laughing as her stomach was pressed into the bed and Tom draped himself over her.

“What are you on about?” Tom asked, nuzzling the nape of Harry’s neck.

“You have a kingdom to run, you berk,” Harry mumbled into the sheets, pointedly ignoring the very bare man weighing her down. “Something _you_ have to do. I refuse to be in charge. I’m going to be the one having the adventures while you’re stuck in meetings. You’re the king with the money, I’m the slave girl, yes? If you refuse, I’ll put Nagini in charge,” Harry warned, using all her strength to roll them over and get out of the bed.

Tom moaned irritably, throwing a pillow at her head, and Harry deftly dodged it with a smile.

* * *

Harry finally bullied Tom into bringing her back to the castle on the back of Tom’s war steed, the cantor of the horse’s gallop making her shift uncomfortably from where she was pressed against Tom’s chest. It was embarrassing to think of her friends seeing her return with the King even though they had seen her at the wedding; Harry dreaded having to field their questions about her being _Hellebore Potter_. It had been awkward enough explaining it to Hermione.

Harry gaped as they broke through the faerie circle’s ward, the Nymph Forest around them simply _teeming_ with life. There was a light drizzle in the forest, alighting the fronds and ferns with a dewy glow, as the sun somehow managed to filter through the rich canopy and making the forest shimmer like a diamond.

It was more lively than Harry had seen in her entire life. The forest was practically bursting with magic, making Harry breathless with the feel of it.

Tom tensed behind Harry as he noticed the nymphs hiding behind trees, watching them through their opaque veils.

“They’re really not that bad,” Harry said over the gallop of the horse, glancing back and muffling a giggle at Tom’s constipated expression.

“Nymphs are evil,” Tom muttered, glancing down at her.

“No, _you’re_ evil,” Harry corrected haughtily. “Nymphs are chaotic neutral.”

“That’s nonsense,” Tom said, but Harry had a vague feeling like she had won the argument so she sent him a sunny smile to really drive the point home.

Speaking of home, once Harry and Tom had broken through the edge of the forest, she was stunned to see that spring had finally come to the outer lands. The long-dried creeks lining the fields were full of water, the lands bursting with greenery and blooming flowers, the scent of wildflowers and magic wafting through the air.

“I should have shagged you earlier,” Harry commented, raising an eyebrow as she looked around. Harry ignored Tom’s snort and she focused inward, looking for the Hunger on the edge of her consciousness. Unlike before, it was… _Gone_.

“The Hunger,” Harry said, eyes wide as she looked around her shoulder at Tom. “I can’t feel it.”

Tom grinned down at Harry with a satisfied glint to his eye. “I felt the Bonding magic take hold that first night at the cabin, filling the land’s natural reserves. Everything after that was simply cherry on the top. Carnal magic is one of the strongest natural springs of leylines.”

Harry blushed and turned back around to face the road ahead, realising that her friends had literally _seen_ the results of her bonding with Tom Riddle in the form of the eradication of the Hunger and the return of the earth’s fertility. It was mortifying. And yet, somehow, _inexplicably_ , it was overwhelmingly sweet. Harry just dreads the smirking, knowing look Nagini’s going to give her.

“To be able to create something like this,” Harry said, waving at the strength of magic returned to the land, “You must really like me. As in, you really, _really_ like me,” Harry teased childishly, smirking.

Harry yelped as Tom reached around and flicked her nose. “Yes, I _like_ you,” Tom replied, haughty. “I like you even though you’re a massive idiot.”

“I know I am, but what are you?” Harry replied, eyebrows raised pointedly.

Tom groaned and pushed the horse harder, trotting turning into a gallop as he approached her small village.

Harry sunk back into Tom’s chest as she grinned, feeling the warmth of his frame press into her. It had taken nearly five years, but she had captured her Knight. And she was never, ever going to let the berk go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And they lived happily ever after._  
>  _The End._


End file.
